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flftemorial Sketcbes 



WRITTEN OF MANY FRIENDS 

— BY — 

GEORGE: ne:edham dale:. 

(Q. N. D-) 



Published in the 

fiseei County 1beral^ 

From time to time through a quarter century. 



F5-7 

.EyUz 



COMPILED BY 

PORTER HINMAN DALE 



"*> ^ :i. Ve S U 



ESSEX COUNTY HERALD PRESS, 

ISLAND POND, VT. 

1903. 



PREFATORY. 

Jny Y father sought the essential quality back of the 
•-'■^ form, and dwelt upon it with admiration. Be- 
cause of his seeking, he found it among all classes, and, 
therefore, he expressed an almost universal friendliness 
toward his fellowmen. Reading this volume, one must 
perceive this, and realize that he was greatly blessed to 
gain such friends. It was a rare element in his nature 
by which he recognized the best qualities in men and 
women, and appreciated children; and by which they 
were drawn within his friendship. Such friendships are 
eternal. They were this side the grave ; and they are 
beyond it. 

"All is this side the grave or beyond. 
There is nothing in it." 

His sketches teach a faith — without assumption or 
speculation — a reasonable and logical convi<5lion. A 
friend dies, 

"But he goes not into darkness. 
He travels with the ever circling light 
and leaves us in shadows." 



He knew this book would be published, and read the 
proof sheets to the ninety-sixth page, the concluding 
sentence of which is a check on the otherwise incessant 
regret that the work had not been earlier completed. 

The collection of these sketches was commenced in 
the hope that he would take a cheerful interest in their 
publication, and that others would welcome them, both 
for sake of him and in memory of their friends whom he 
appreciated ; it became a memorial to him, builded of the 
words he wrote of many friends, and is concluded in the 
hope that all who read may feel his reasoning force, and 
find it less terrible 

"To lift the veil that hides from us tiie eternal world, 
and look and go beyond." 

PORTER H. DALE. 




/-^^ .-^^.^K^^^-^^i;^ 



Wc are followino tbe Dear olD 
aesoctates of swift auD arDent lives 
into a more genial clime. Ibope 
teacbes us tbis is sOt anD we listen 
to ber anxiously anD approvinall?, 
because it is sbe wbo bas maDe life 
so aranD anD Deatb so consistent. 

6. m. 2). 



AN ALLEGORY.* 

♦fTN olden times wlien gods and demi-gods were said to 
" rule tlie world a fond motlier bitterly complained 
to Jupiter because death bad cruelly and causelessly in- 
vaded Her sacred association and taken ber most cberisbed 
idol, a little girl of supernal beauty and loveliness, wbile 
otbers, rude and indifferent, were suffered to remain alive. 
Jupiter replied tbat it was not intended tbat tbe cbild 
sbould live long, else sbe could not have done ber little 
errand on wbicb sbe was sent to eartb; tbat sbe was 
simply sent to inspire finer, tenderer and purer senti- 
ments in otbers, and tbat could only be accomplished by 
tbe purity of cbildbood. Besides sbe bad become just 
wbat sbe was intended to be, a sad, sweet memory, season- 
ing all tbe emotions of a mother's heart and filling all 
her life. 

Still supplicating, tbe applicant begged to be re- 
lieved of the load of bitter memories which it seemed to 
her she could not endure. 



"Be it so" replied tlie deity ; aud all tlie memories of 
tlie bright beautiful little being vanisbed. Witb momen- 
tary gladness tbe motber turned, but only to face a vast 
void. Sbe stood an instant but saw no ray of liglit and 
felt no atmosphere of love, or Hope, or agony. Then 
in the midst of barren, pulseless and emotionless nothing- 
ness, and with a long, lonesome sigh, she fell in a swoon 
at the feet of deity. When consciousness and reason 
came again, she begged to be restored to all the living 
memories she had lost in order that she might, walking 
amid her sorrows, see the figure of her hope pressing a 
little cheek against a window pane in one of the many 
mansions so grandly reflecfted in sacred song and story. 
The cruel decree was reversed. 

* Lines suggested lij the death of Helen Genevieve, daughter of Mr. Wm. H. 
and Mrs. Jennie Merrill Shurtleff, of Lancaster, N. H. 



GEN. GEORGE P. FOSTER. 

MHKN an eminent statesman falls, tlie common- 
wealth sliudders. Wlien a brave soldier wins 
renown, and escapes all tlie perils of war, and His fall is 
unbroken by tlie excitement of battle, an inexpressible 
sadness settles upon bis comrades. When a fit repre- 
sentative of tbe family, society, tbe civil service of tbe 
country, tbe grand army men, and tbat beroic period 
tbrougb wbicb we bave just passed, goes to bis long 
bome, tbe news of bis deatb travels far and wide and 
pierces tbe bearts of us all. 

And now, long, very long, and deep, are tbe shad- 
ows wbicb fall across tbe land, for General George P. 
Foster is dead. His deatb brings more of personal 
sorrow tban usually comes to us, because be was tbe 
representative of so many interesting phases of life. 
It comes with startling effe(5l, because it follows so 
suddenly bis strong and bealtby appearance among us, 

3 



and because his attachments to life ran in so many 
directions. A kind husband, a generous, careful father, 
a genial, pleasant companion, a firm, faithful friend, 
a good citizen and a brave soldier, an important actor in 
an intensely interesting period ; all these, and more than 
these, were fitly represented in him. His connedlion 
with all that was interesting in life was intimate and ex- 
tensive. His social relations were joyous and happy. 
His official life was harmonious and without reproach or 
suspicion. No situation can hardly be conceived in 
which death, in the midst of a desirable life would seem 
to be more unwelcome, and yet, with the fortitude which 
bore him through the perils of war, he was able to sub- 
mit with resignation. His indeed was a fortunate career. 
When we look at his successful achievements in the 
army, and especially at that scene in his own native 
State, and see the kindness of that swift winged fortune 
which bore him through crowds of Fenians amid swiftly 
marshalled circumstances sent by a kind, quick chance 
to contribute to the accomplishment of that act which 
quickly solved the ugly problem on which the govern- 
ment was laboring, and brought to its actor a bright 
fame, adorned with active, dashing courage, romance 
and mystery, we are lost in wonder. And when we 
look back to the time when Vermont called for fitting 
representatives of her Aliens and her Warners, and find 
his name high up in the roll of those who so completely 
responded to that call, and who so effedlually reproduced 



and secured tlie continuance of Vermont's ancient military 
renown, our Hearts are more tlian ever filled with grati- 
tude and thanksgiving at the result, and with the deepest 
sadness at this irreparable loss. 

While the Grand Army in silent sadness closes its 
broken ranks and his companions and friends mourn his 
sudden taking off, the rich consolation still remains that 
we never have and never shall be called upon to bid fare- 
well to his good reputation, which shall ever live, or to his 
military fame, which shall ever last, while the institu- 
tions he fought to sustain shall endure. 



ELIAS LYMAN. 

^^HE subject of this sketcli was born in Chester, Mass., 
^^ May 25, 1804. At the age of 12 years lie came 
with liis father to live in Columbia, N. H. When 24 
years of age he married Clarissa C. Smith, who, after a 
happy and contented life, went just before him into the 
great hereafter. Directly they were married they went 
to Dixville, P. Q., where with characteristic energy they 
constructed a rude log cabin and commenced clearing for 
a farm ; but the forests were unyielding, circumstances 
and seasons unfavorable, the soil rigid on account of 
being uncultivated, and the young couple were away from 
all the accustomed associations of their lives. At length 
after four or five years, their strong determination to 
build a home in those wild woods, yielded, and they 
turned their faces toward their old associates and into 
the produ6live Connedlicut valley, to which they had be- 
come attached, and the softer or more willing soil of 
which yielded less reluctantly the comforts of a home and 

6 



gave riclier promise of prosperity. From the time young 
Lyman returned from Dixville until 1847 lie resided at 
Columbia, struggling witH limited means and a rapidly 
increasing family. He then moved to Lemington and 
purchased a farm on which he resided as long as he lived. 
Thus located, by strict economy, honest industry and 
fair dealing, in a short time he surrounded himself with 
all the comforts of a New England home, and soon saw 
numerous and enterprising sons go out into the world 
in every direction, who, never forgetting him, now one, 
and again another returned to live with him on the farm. 
And while one daughter located very near him and within 
call, another, with the truest filial devotion, remained in 
his home and never deserted the old man while he lived. 

He had now become a fortunate man, simply because 
he had come to comfortable circumstances. He looked 
upon the cheerful prospects resulting from so many 
years of waiting and toil, with grateful satisfaction and 
happiness. He looked upon his comfortable farm, and 
little, but well cared for stock, and upon his many sons 
as they came and went, with just pride; and it all gave 
immense satisfaction to his social nature. He saw with 
pleasure the friendly faces of his townsmen, who con- 
stantly kept him in office, where he carefully and hon- 
estly looked after their interests. In 1869-70 he was 
Associate Judge of Bssex County Court and saw there- 
in a widening circle of pleasant acquaintances ripening 
into lasting friendship in every part of the county, for 



liis genial presence was always welcome. He saw, witli 
ardent devotion to country, tlie name of tlie old Wliig 
party fade and go out, but lie liailed with joy tlie new 
Republican party with which he always acted, with no 
blind devotion to party, but with an intelligent apprecia- 
tion of its uses to the country, as he conceived. He had 
reached a point in his humble life at which he saw 
with satisfaction a country in which he felt safe 
to leave the lives and fortunes of his numerous 
family. He saw the accomplishments of a reasonable 
and humble ambition. He saw all these things with the 

delight peculiar to age, and then he saw nothing. A 

sad accident had occurred and all through the twilight he 
saw nothing. The next day dawned to others, but not 
to him. Once only during its long hours as the sun 
shone bright on the face of the old clock it mockingly 
threw the familiar objects of his home into his soul, but 
only an instant, for they vanished as quickly as they 
came, and he went out from the bright light into total 
darkness and remained entirely blind until his death. 

During the short remainder of his life, although 
compelled to grope his way along where he could almost 
touch the familiar objects and acquaintances of his life 
without being permitted to view them, he never lost his 
cheerful and good old-fashioned social humor. He de- 
lighted to greet his old friends and loved to live in the 
past which yielded to him a warmer atmosphere than 
most men enjoy. 



His death occurred as fortunately to him as one 
could wish, for it was unexpected, sudden, almost instan- 
taneous. 

The death of Judge Lyman brings not only his 
numerous family but nearly all the dwellers in the valley 
and in our county very near to the shadow of that great 
valley through which he passed so suddenly. Even 
kindly nature, which for some wise purpose had cast deep, 
long shadows upon him for four years, with a gentle 
hand quickly relieved him at last, and we all feel that 
the last representatives of that old school of men who 
represent the pioneers of this country are fast passing 
away, and taking with them much of that romance, 
hearty sociability, strict probity, and deep indignation 
at petty and low lived characteristics, which were so 
peculiar to the early settlers of this country and made 
them so worthy of imitation in many things by their 
children, who, let us hope, will be equally fortunate in 
honest lives and happy deaths. 



PORTER HINMAN. 

A moment's reflection upon the life and deatli of a 
man so extensively connected witli tlie business and 
social interests of a community as was Mr. Hinman, can- 
not be unprofitable. Being a descendant of the early 
settlers of Derby, (a son of the very first settler,) and 
consequently connected with a large, but now somewhat 
scattered family, gives the subject more or less of general 
interest. 

He was born in Derby, January 26, 1812, and mar- 
ried Mary P. Wilder, August 19, 1836. The circum- 
stances of his father's family at the time of his birth 
were somewhat peculiar. His father was one of those 
who left their bloody footprints in the snows of Valley 
Forge, and who in his lifetime had been of stern and 
regular habits, and was a man of sterling worth, uncom- 
promising probit}^ and dignity of character. He occupied 
positions of trust. Among others, that of trial judge in 

10 



II 



tlie County Courts. But at the time of the birth of the 
subject of this sketch, solely through misfortune, occa- 
sioned by the perfidy of a trusted agent, and a stern re- 
fusal to take advantage of circumstances, and by any 
questionable means shift the responsibility of his obliga- 
tions, he was a victim to that cruel law which permitted 
imprisonment for debt. Under these circumstances, 
the dawn of Porter's life was upon misfortune and abso- 
lute want. After struggling along with his father and 
mother until their death, he began business in a small 
way, living in Derby for a time, then at Beebe Plain, 
where his sister, Mrs. Horace Stewart, lived ; from there 
he moved back to Derby, and soon after to Charleston, 
where he actively engaged in the mercantile business and 
farming. He resided in Charleston, with the exception 
of a short time during which he was engaged in business 
at Morgan, until he moved to Island Pond about the year 
1866, where he immediately entered into business, taking 
the liveliest interest in all the little village enterprises 
and industries connected with our community. 

Looking along the line of his work, the eye is con- 
stantly passing from one to another of the enterprises 
back to the old town of Derby, and scarcely one is to be 
found with which he has not in some way been connected. 
And seldom is a man met on the route who has not 
known him intimately or had business relations with 
him. His last enterprise was the completion of the 
Stewart House in our village. He never owned a place 



12 

that he did not improve and give it an air of comfort, ex- 
ercising the best judgment and the strictest economy in 
respect to it. His busy life bringing him in contact with 
so many, it would be singular if he escaped criticism from 
some. But under the circumstances he was peculiarly 
fortunate, escaping more differences and controversies 
than most any other man would in so busily traveling 
the same road. 

He was always accommodating. No man ever came 
to him in financial embarrassment, to whom he did not 
lend a willing ear, and no man in the community was 
ever applied to more frequently in such cases. Imbibing 
strong puritanical and somewhat old-fashioned notions, 
he often ran counter to the more modern style of thought 
and life. His education being limited, and his nature re- 
tiring and undemonstrative, his motives were often mis- 
apprehended. This made life at times hard. He never 
sought public promotion, and because of his diffidence and 
distrust in his abilities to perform the duties of office, al- 
ways shrank from them. When elected by the people of 
this county to the office of Assistant Judge of the County 
Court, he hesitated about attending Court at all. His 
success lay in his strong common sense, and in the pos- 
session of a memory seldom equalled. 

His loss was not anticipated, but is now felt. 
Scarcely, if ever, have the active business men of our 
community been so moved by death as now. He died — 
as most men would like to die — in the harness. Nature 



13 

was very kind to Him. In mercy slie instantly severed 
his connection with the world. Trained in the school of 
adversity, educated by a father's fortunate example, 
taught by a mother of remarkable piety, and associated 
with a wife of untiring devotion to his interests, and con- 
stant supplications for his spiritual welfare, he was 
brought from darkness to light, and about three years 
since made a public profession of religion, thus leaving 
to his companion the richest inheritance she could pos- 
sibly possess on earth — the assurance that it is well with 
him. 

We have endeavored to speak of him as he was. 
Whether we have or not, as he lies peacefully asleep in 
his dear old native town, it will be entirely immaterial to 
him. In any event, we cannot err in saying that we can 
learn from his life lessons of untiring industry, tender 
heartedness, warm friendship, and the kindly care and 
sympathy of a husband, father and true friend. 



RUSSELL LYMAN. 

®UR community was startled by tlie intelligence that 
a fearful accident had occurred to Russell Lyman 
at the Butters' mill. While he was winding some spun 
yarn on to a shaft, which was making over 300 revolutions 
per minute, his hand was wound in, and he was thrown 
over the shaft. While being whirled round, he caught 
a post, and held on for life. His shouting attracted the 
attention of a workman, and the mill was stopped, but 
not until his arm was completely wound round the shaft, 
to his body, forming an arbor, in which the shaft played 
until it burned to the bone. When help arrived, he 
directed about extricating the arm with as much coolness 
as he would about any piece of work, and when released, 
he walked out over the difficult passages of the mill, de- 
clining all help, and going to his work bench, laid his arm 
upon it and calculated about the chances of saving it. 
He then walked to the house, a surgeon was sent for, and 

14 



15 

his arm was amputated. He survived the operation 
less than forty-eight hours, and was fifty years old when 
he died. 

A rarer exhibition of courage and presence of mind 
is seldom seen than that shown by Mr. Lyman. He was 
a true friend and disdained falsehood. He had just spent 
two or three years in leading his aged father, from whom 
the light of day was shut out, while he was taking life's 
last steps. 

He came among us, an artisan of more than common 
skill, a fine musician, a genial companion and an honest 
man. He busily engaged in the details of his trade, and 
during his stay he provoked no censure, no criticisms 
and no resentments. He made many warm friends. 
With a characteristic enterprise he was working and 
fighting the battles of life amid some misfortunes, but 
with a courage equal to them all. He was away from 
home, but among the warmest friends, whose expectation 
of his life was undoubted, and who little dreamed that 
they would look out on the morning of the i8th and find 
their surroundings so solemnly quiet. Seldom have the 
middle aged men of our village been brought to such 
suddenly sad reflections, as by this event, and when he, 
who had been a close friend, perhaps the most intimate, 
took the hand of the dying man, it was plainly visible on 
that friend's face that he was being led very near the 
shades of the eternal world. 

When death comes to us in our homes, there are 



i6 

many compensations for suffering. When men die in 
battle, tlie enthusiasm of the cause, and the surrounding 
circumstances, mitigate its woes. But when torn and 
crushed by cruel machinery, swung in the air, and thrown 
violently down, it seems to be all cruel, with no mitiga- 
tions. And as we look to his warm and genial inter- 
course of a week ago, and then at his mangled form as it 
lies so still, among strangers, it is unutterably sad, re- 
lieved only by that token of respect very feelingly ex- 
hibited by his employer. In all events Providence has 
concealed deep lessons. In wandering amid the mysteries 
of this one, let us seek to learn what it teaches. 



EUNICIA L. HUDSON. 

'^^HH subject of tHis notice was the daugliter of Russell 
^^ Hosford and tlie wife of S. S. Hudson. Slie was 
bom in Bast Haven in 1835, was a member of the Baptist 
cliurcli, bad always lived an exemplary life, and in some 
respects was a remarkable woman. 

Sbe went witb her husband into the forest and they 
began to clear up a farm and build a home, which by 
patient industry they had accomplished at the time of her 
death. Her sympathy with suffering, and her sacrifices 
for the sick and afflidled, were unlimited. Her mother 
being feeble, she took her husband to her home and re- 
mained until the object of her care had gone beyond the 
line, over which human aid or sympathy never will go. 
She willingly, though sadly, submitted to the absence of 
her husband, who was in the army for three years; 
and when her brother, from whom she had parted in 
equal grief, was wounded in the battle of the Wilderness, 

17 



i8 

slie could not endure the idea of sitting idly down at 
liome, with her husband at far off Petersburg, and her 
brother dying at Baltimore, where she found him unable 
to move, as soon as flying trains could reach there. She 
remained with him days and weeks, and until he was 
brought to Burlington and placed under that kind and 
careful treatment so characteristically exercised by Ver- 
mont toward her stricken defenders. 

Last fall Mrs. Hudson was in feeble health, but 
had recovered and was in apparently good health 
until Saturday evening, when she was attacked with a 
sudden distress about the heart. Everything that kind- 
ness and presence of mind could do for her, was done 
promptly, but the nearest neighbor was alarmed in time 
only to see her breathe her last. It was indeed a sad 
"Cotter's Saturday night." And when that still, cold 
Sabbath morning dawned, and her companion would 
fain have gone with her to those sacred exercises to 
which she was so devoted, she was so silent, that he was 
oppressed almost to the point of murmuring against that 
stern inevitable, which would have little heeded him if 
he had. And why should it? Reason teaches that 
death is an essential element in the nature of man, and 
one step in the accomplishment of his hopeful destiny. 
Her extraordinary devotion to her friends while she 
lived, and her complete preparation for her departure, 
ought to have earned a resignation to her going early to 
those great rewards which are so surely in store for her. 



19 

This is said not unfeelingly, nor without great sympathy, 
but in obedience to that reason which also instructs us 
that resignation to Him, Who is kinder to her than 
earthly friends, is their great duty. We can only 
commend the lonely to Him Who will never lose sight of 
the wise purposes to be accomplished by this event. 



HORACE STEWART. 

♦JC^ORACE Stewart was born in Derby, September 25, 
"^ 1804, and died at Beebe Plain May 25, 1883. He 
was a son of Major Rufus Stewart who came to Derby in 
tbe beginning of tbe town. About 1836 he went to Beebe 
Plain and commenced business. February 2, 1830, he 
married Miss Catherine Hinman, a woman of remarkable 
benevolence and possessing the fine qualities of a wife 
and mother, with whom he toiled and worked amid diffi- 
culties and sorrows, including the loss of three out of 
four children, their only surviving child being Mrs. 
Martha Haskell of Derby Line. 

Mr. Stewart was a remarkable business man. He 
was a man of commanding figure and very gentlemanly 
deportment. In appearance he was a fine type of the old 
school gentleman. Beginning at Beebe Plain, by his 
tact, energy, and industry he soon outstripped all com- 
petitors, and stood foremost among the business men of 

20 



21 

the vicinity. He was methodical, painstaking, and 
always had a care to his business in general and in 
detail. He did business to the best advantage financially 
and rapidly grew rich. He had probably more extensive 
and varied relations to, and connections with, men than 
any other man in this vicinity. It is not a little remark- 
able that with his extensive business, reaching from the 
Connecticut river far into Canada, and involving all kinds 
of men, he had next to no litigation, and what he did 
have, usually grew out of the relations and difficulties 
between others. 

When a child dies it is as if a little, growing twig had 
been plucked up by the rude hand of a passing man; 
when some men die it is like the dropping of a branch- 
less tree, disturbing little; but when a man like Horace 
Stewart goes, it is as when a large, live tree, with its 
branches extending far and wide among others, and its 
roots reticulating from the center to the circumference 
of a great circle, falls, and its fall affects others, even to 
the extent of tearing them up or breaking them down. 
It was considerations somewhat analagous to these that 
moved so many on the day of the funeral to express such 
sincere regrets that this remarkable business man had 
fallen. Business men, fast friends, the community in 
which he lived, and enterprise in general, all will greatly 
miss him. 



ALEC CABANA.^ 

JOHN FOWLER.* 

^^HE going of any one of our friends or acquaintances 
^^ into the vast unseen is an event whicli creates in 
us sensations akin to none produced by any other cause, 
even if the departed went gradually out of sight, and his 
going was not expected. But to what tension is every 
faculty of mind or body strung when more than one type of 
health and strength is hurled in an instant to the end of 
that journey "whence no traveller returns." When two 
honest, industrious men, in the prime of life, surrounded 
each by a pleasant family circle to which he was coming 
from a day's honest toil with joyful anticipations of 
happiness and rest, and when nothing exists in the lives 
of either to justify a particle of enmity in the minds of 
anyone, is it any wonder that men are struck dumb and 
speechless at the tidings of their cruel taking off ? Is 
it a thing incredible that men wept who for many years 
had not shed a tear ? 

22 



23 

Never before did so long, deep shadows fall upon our 
village, never before was there such a lull in business or 
pleasure, or did such lonesome stillness pervade our 
community, as on the days which succeeded that terrible 
night of darkness in which Alec Cabana and John 
Fowler met their fearful deaths. None seemed to have 
any consolation to give to others, or to the poor stricken 
families. The sudden crash that made widows and 
orphans in an instant, so paralyzed all that it seemed 
impossible to recover. People begin to say what all 
knew before, "they were honest," and then reflect that 
that fact makes the loss to the community all the greater ; 
that "they were industrious," and that again makes the 
loss to wives, children and friends still greater. Words 
of sympathy are powerless to assuage the grief of a 
home circle bereft, but the sorrow felt by everyone, bring- 
ing hundreds from a distance to pay a last tribute to the 
memory of the dead, will, in these sad cases, be some 
slight gratification, we know, to the mourning. We can 
pay no tribute of respect to the departed that is not already 
in the minds of all who knew them. We can offer no 
consolation to the heart-stricken families except an as- 
surance of the sincere and heartfelt sympathy of the 
whole community, and to commend them to the will of 
a Providence "Who doeth all things well." 

*KiUed in the railroad accident at Stratford Hollotr, May 31st, 1883. 



JONAS CARRUTH. 

^^^ HE longer a man lives and tlie more intimately we 
^^ are associated with him, the greater is the shock 
and the keener our regrets at his death. This is the 
situation of this community on being startled with the 
intelligence from Burlington that "Jonas Carruth is 
dead." His life and character were such as to make a 
momentary reflection upon them profitable. 

He spent his early life on a farm in Concord, and 
afterwards engaged in mercantile pursuits in Hardwick 
and Hast Charleston, at which latter place his strict in- 
tegrity, ripe and candid judgment, his remarkable ability 
as an accurate accountant and his tasty penmanship, 
attracted attention, and he was invited to a position in 
the Custom House at Island Pond, which he occupied for 
several years, and then was called to service in the 
revenue department at Washington, where he remained 
until some ten years since, when he was called to the 

24 



25 

cHef office of customs in this district, at Buriington. It 
has been his lot to be called to those positions in which 
there was the most labor to be done, and the most diffi- 
culties and intricacies to be overcome. He mastered 
them all with a fertile brain and facile pen, until he en- 
countered the inevitable. His positions exposed 
him to all kinds of temptation and to available oppor- 
tunities, for an unscrupulous man, to obtain wealth, but 
he never yielded to the former nor acquired the latter. 
Modest, unassuming, of the finest literary taste, and 
possessing a logical mind, he was yet content to live 
comparatively unknown, earn what he had, and to enjoy 
the pleasures of domestic life, in which he was peculiarly 
fortunate, possessing an amiable and accomplished wife 
and two interesting daughters. His friendship was 
firm and lasting as his indomitable will. His sincerity 
secured him, as much as possible to human nature, 
against deviation from fidelity to his friends, or truth. 
His courage was unbending, and his sympathies as tender 
as a woman's. He never recovered from the keenest 
grief at the loss, many years ago, of his little boy, of 
whom he could never speak but with tremulous tones. 
And now that he has gone, his associates in office, 
in business, "and in the communities in which he has lived, 
with unusual unanimity join in saying, he lived "to give 
the world assurance of a man." 



PATRICK FOLEY. 

'Jf^HE solemn tones of tlie tolling bell Have died away, 
^^ and as we write, tlie funeral train is passing. Mov- 
ing slowly and sadly along we see tlie banner of tbe 
Friendly Sons, — that beautiful type of the memories of 
that unfortunate and romantic country, whose sons and 
daughters are semi-exiles, and who have fought success- 
fully every battle but their own, — but more proximately 
the type of that fraternal feeling which cements in one 
common bond that little band who are bearing Patsey 
Foley to his long resting place. 

Death in any form is filled with a deep mysterious 
gloom by reason, perhaps of the uncertainty beyond ; and 
it seems to the living terrible (it is hard to see why it 
should) to lift the veil that hides us from the eternal 
world, and look and go beyond. But when it comes in 
the form this did, and to one so energetic, so full of life, 
so accommodating and kind, the shadows fall very long 

26 



27 

and dark. But if his acquaintances feel his death keenly, 
how must that mother feel who saw her son go out from 
his home buoyant and hopeful, and then in one short 
hour see his lifeless form brought back crushed between 
two cruel, relentless cars 1 Tears for the boy who has 
gone to his long home are unavailing. But it is the hour 
of sympathy for the living, and the hour of deep and 
serious reflection for the men and boys all along the line. 



WILLIAM H. BURNS. 

^T^HHRK are periods in each life when mortality seems 
^^ greater than at other times. This probably grows 
out of the fact that one loses a greater number of personal 
friends in quick succession during those periods. At 
this time it seems to me that individual friends are 
hurrying after each other into the unknown faster and 
more unexpectedly than ever before in my experience. 
Among them I am startled to learn of the death of Hon. 
William H. Bums of Lancaster, N. H. The more 
brilliant and cheery the light, the quicker it is apt to go 
out, and the greater the darkness and the still gloom 
which succeeds its extinguishment. 

Mr. Burns, in every essential and desirable quality 
that goes to make up the man socially and mentally, was 
the peer of any man who ever lived in Coos county. 
Socially delicate, modest and refined, he was polite and 
courteous to all, without regard to position. This does 

28 



29 

not imply that lie was tame, by any means, for his life 
was full of zest. His sarcasm was keen in debate, but 
always of that pure quality which placed it beyond 
coarseness, vulgarity or criticism. 

As a lawyer, he had not to depend on one quality 
alone. He was not deficient in any. He combined a 
thorough knowledge of the law in all its details, with a 
brilliant and logical advocacy. Many years ago he was 
injured in a collision of trains on a railroad, and was 
crippled for life. But he was very, very graceful even in 
his disfigurement. For a few years he had retired from 
the bar, but not to gloom, despondency or churlishness ; 
but patient and cheerful, with his wonted courtesy, he 
accepted the inevitable, and lived as he might, with noth- 
ing to look forward to, but to live in the past upon a short 
but brilliant career, cheered by the care of one whose 
devotion to and love for him, is truly admirable. 

As one after another the lights are extinguished the 
world gradually grows dim, but when the light of such a 
life as his goes out, a quicker and deeper darkness sudden- 
ly falls upon our eyelids. But he has gone, and we are 
glad that he lived, for we can fondly cherish the pleasant 
memories of his life, and his death seeming to hasten the 
transition of our associations, and to center them in the 
great house of mysteries, will make us the more recon- 
ciled to go to them. 



HARRIETTE GONYA. 

J||V RS. Harriette Gonya was born in Quebec in the 
•■'■*' year 1812, married there to Jean Baptiste Gonya 
September 5, 1832, and was buried at Island Pond, after 
a long residence here, on September 5, 1885, the fifty- 
third anniversary of her wedding. 

The excellent and womanly qualities exhibited in 
the unpretending and modest character of the deceased 
incline us to a moment's recognition due to them. In 
the presence of death we are inclined to feel and act 
honestly. Many times we show respect for the departed 
in obedience to conventional rules of society, at other 
times from feelings of personal friendship, and again 
we do homage to the dead out of pure and just respect 
for the character of the deceased. The subject of this 
sketch went from the walks of humble life respected by 
such considerations and many more. Her natural kind- 
ness of heart and deep sympathy with the sick and 

30 



31 

afflicted led her many times to beds of sickness when the 
care and wants of a large family rendered her going 
almost too great a sacrifice to be entirely consistent. In 
the midst of these cares and helpful offices, her steps were 
suddenly arrested and her cheerful voice is silent. The 
procession has passed and the last rites are over ; passed 
with no pomp or show, and no vaunting of her virtues, 
but deep in the hearts of many are pleasant recollections 
of her cheerful manners in life, her generous and 
womanly exertions for neighborly peace and welfare, and 
her charity for all. Standing aloof from impertinent 
meddling with the affairs of others, her quick ear caught 
any call for help, to which she always responded, regard- 
less of personal consequences. Many today stand by her 
grave, who owe their own, and in some cases their 
children's lives, to her care, with hearts filled with tender 
grief. In tears of gratitude, to her quiet resting place 
come the living with unmistakable tokens of the purest, 
truest, and most sincere regret at her departure, and the 
warmest appreciation of her generous life. To be so 
truly and pleasantly remembered is a fortune denied to 
queens. It ought to reconcile the living to her death, 
for under its seal these memories are secured forever. 



LILIAN MARIAN BUCK. 

'Jf^ENDER and delicate tlie dying girl lay on her 
^^ coucli. The terrible struggle in the hearts of 
those who surrounded her, against the decree that had 
silently gone forth, moved her not. She was all uncon- 
scious of her surroundings as she lay there in the sweet 
innocence of childhood. It was the morning and the 
evening of her brief day. Quietly she seemed moving 
away. The cords of life were not being rudely snapped. 
They were softly disengaged by the kindly offices of 
nature. The form was so still and the air so subdued 
and silent that all seemed to be listening. At last a 
message comes from the unseen world, sweet as the song 
of angels: "Suffer the little children to come unto me, 
and forbid them not ; for of such is the kingdom of God." 
It was a beautiful picture of death. Let us accept the 
heavenly invitation and let the little favorite go. It 
would be unkind to strive to keep her now. The delicate 

32 



33 

and sensitive being has been kept by kindly hands thus 
far from gross contact with the world, but her little life- 
boat was too frail to weather the storms. The plucking of 
the tender branch from the parent vine takes a part of 
the very vine of its paternity and maternity; still it 
would be selfish even in father or mother to desire to 
have their wounds healed with a life of suffering for her 
whose sensitive nature could not withstand the unpity- 
ing things of this world. " Why was she not of a differ- 
ent nature then ? " Idle question ! Why then you 
would never have had the being you have loved and lost. 
*' Then why was she sent at all ? " When you ask that 
you know you would not put out the light her being 
has brought to you — for your lives you would not. As 
she sinks in the grave to the level of kings, and the 
mighty of earth, her little errand here will rise to the 
grandeur of theirs in the eternity of things, and exceed 
them all in the supernal beauty of its nature. She may 
have been unconsciously sent after some one whom she 
is waiting to welcome to and lead in the land of the here- 
after. Who knows ? But it is quite enough to fulfill 
the wisest purpose if this being of matchless beauty was 
sent to earth only to show how fair a flower in paradise 
might bloom. 



HUGO JORDAN. 

T^IED in Washington, D. C, May 2, 1886, of typhoid 
^^ fever, Hugo, son of Mr. and Mrs. Chester B. Jor- 
dan, of Lancaster, N. H., aged two years. 

There are childish little arts and incidents, which, 
coming from the nature of childhood, tenderly play 
around the heart and linger in the memory of strong men 
longer than those things which the world would call 
more important, and like the finest and most delicate 
tones of music weave themselves into the coarser fabric 
of our being. When the strong man, one of the promi- 
nent characteristics of whose strength is paternal affec- 
tion, and when the mother, under most favorable circum- 
stances, each blend into their very being an object of 
affection, the connecting links are of a different nature, 
but are equally strong ; and when snapped the worshipers 
are left alone powerless, and are inclined to yield to the 
wounds. In their weakness they can see no reason in it 

34 



35 

all. They struggle in vain to find any compensation for 
the loss. But when reason asserts her sway they begin 
to reconcile and harmonize their different circumstances. 
They chide themselves for having almost said, " Why 
was this blessing sent to torment us ? " They begin to 
see that they have almost made the pleasant little visit 
unwelcome, and to realize that there is much of subtle 
mystery in the tender influences which those fleet, tiny 
beings exert in their flying visits to earth. At last, with 
softened and subdued but never dying grief, they become 
reconciled in gratitude for the delicate and tender memo- 
ries left behind. 



JUDGE POLAND. 

HEN a person dies wlio tlirougli weakness excites 
sympathy, and consequent affection, or whose 
amiability finds a way to tlie hearts of associates, such 
death creates a sorrow more passionate than deep ; but 
when a man dies who is connected with his friends by 
the most tender and interesting bonds of friendship, who 
possessed a great intellect and an intense and active 
mind which animated all around him, and made every one 
feel his existence, then his going stirs the hearts of his 
survivors as nothing else will. I do not mean that it cuts 
as keenly as sorrow for one's offspring which often turns 
the after life even of strong men awry, but that when 
we lose friendship, a wonderful intellect, and a great 
mind — the sunlight of which develops pride and admira- 
tion for the man — the sorrow has many sources and 
comes to us like the voice of many waters. Such are the 
feelings and sentiments awakened by the death of Judge 

36 



37 

Poland. We look at his massive intellect, strong will, 
and at him so full of life. It does not seem possible that 
such a life can go out ; but suddenly he disappears, sum- 
moned by the messenger against whose errand the 
intellect and genius of man is unavailing ; and so we 
follow him into the eternal shadows farther than any 
other man who has gone in a long time. His going 
startles us and we stand almost in awe of life and death. 
The greater and more extensive the light of man's life, 
the more deep and wide is the darkness that succeeds. 
We are startled by the stillness, and turn to see where 
that old school of gentlemen which he represented (and 
taught I might say) are now. Where is Bartlett, Slade, 
the two Cahoons, Stoddard, Brown, the Davises, Hale, 
Potts, Rogers, Burke, and enough more to make a long 
line who are but our file leaders marching to final 
destiny ? What one of the present judges occupied a 
seat upon the bench a few years ago in the times which 
we (exaggerating the length and importance of our own 
lives) call " those early days ? " But Judge Poland has 
gone, and it is not for us to moodily reflect upon his 
going. Let us be grateful that his life has contributed 
so much to the justice, enterprise, industry and broad 
common sense of the Bench and State generally. 



MRS. J. B. GRANT. 

OW tliat deatli lias passed away with his victim, 
(tliougli not to be long gone) the gloom and 
terror inspired by his actual presence has so far subsided 
as to enable those left behind to look more calmly on the 
visitation. Sadness has not gone. It has only sunk 
deeply and quietly down into the silent hearts of the sur- 
vivors, to be awakened, even after long years, by the 
slightest recollections. 

Unusual grief fills the circle of the life of her whose 
death suggests these reflections, and although it will re- 
main as long as her memory lasts, its intensity is now. 
Sad hearts move around amid the memories of a quiet, 
amiable Christian woman. 

Grief for the dead is dependent much on circum- 
stances. But to human considerations the dark angel 
has no regard in making his visits. 

To the quiet, and perhaps neglected old man he 

38 



39 

comes perhaps without noise, or disturbance of his victim, 
or even of those around him. His coming is then re- 
garded by mortals almost universally as an errand of 
mercy. But when he suddenly snatches his victim, for 
whom the world is filled with the most interesting asso- 
ciations of earth, from a companionship which has 
ripened by years of cultivation and association, and from 
a group of young life surrounded and filled with the 
intensest love and enthusiasm, it stirs to life every 
emotion of grief, terror and dismay, and it seems for the 
moment the most ill-timed visit ever made to earth by 
any messenger from the spirit land. It seems do I say ? 
Yes ; and what seems to be (to the mourners) is. 

There is no occasion for sad sympathy for her who 
has gone. Her life was such that it is well with her. Sor- 
row is meet only for the living. Mourn only because the 
silver cords are loosed, because the Eolian tones of a life 
whose harmony could be disturbed only by death, are 
gone. To struggle for an explanation of the mystery of 
this affliction, under the circumstances, would be vain 
and unavailing, and would only bring pain. 

Let not sorrow defeat courage, nor turn away any 
from moving along on the line followed thus far in their 
lives. Let it not disturb by its seeming unreasonable- 
ness the faith of any in the things on which their hopes 
are founded, and which have been cultivated and 
cherished through many years of comfort and undisturbed 
reason and affection. 



DAVID H. BEATTIE. 

<« Art is long and time is fleeting, 
Aud our hearts though stout and brave, 
Still like muffled druns are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave." 

^p^EATH seems a shadow, yet it moves and works 
^^ witli a silent yet irresistible power. Noiseless it 
comes. It says no audible word to its victim. It gives 
no cheer, no hope of release. It is a power to which 
mortals do not presume to appeal for delay. It seems 
impossible that the consciousness of a large mind should 
ever cease to be. But this power, moving swiftly amid 
concealed mysteries, lays the princely intellect beside 
that of the idiot, and that of the pauper beside that of the 
millionaire ; and they are the same inanimate substances 
so far as the world is concerned. All animosities, envies, 
jealousies, and prejudices connected with them become 
mean and contemptible in its presence. Without passion 
this power is inexorable. No reproaches are addressed 

40 



41 

to it except sucli as come from the lips of those who are 
unbalanced and delirious with grief. Its visits are un- 
welcome to most of us, yet agreeable to many. It gives 
repose and ends all sorrow, suffering and pain. In what 
manner, or how long, we cannot tell. We know by 
sleeping and waking the existence of inanimation and 
revival, and so we know that death and resurrection is 
no greater mystery, only less familiar. But to what 
nature that final awakening shall be we cannot tell. And 
so, through all its silent mysteries, that invisible power 
moves and works — that old, old death; as old as time 
and as mysterious as eternity. 

And now it has come with more than usual awe and 
hushed sadness in the decease of Hon. David H. Beattie, 
at his residence in Lancaster, N. H., December 24, 1889. 

" Turn backward, O ! time in your flight," and let 
us see him coming through half a century, starting with 
the hopes and ambitions of early life and with quick, 
elastic step, then settling down to calm, consistent yet 
thorough work, and then rousing himself for life's final 
struggle, and walking with nervous and enfeebled gait to 
the grave buoyed up by an unwonted courage. 

He was hunted even to his grave like a fretted stag 
whose horns are entangled in the branches of a forest. 
He was bayed by cruel circumstances. He was followed 
to the door of his tomb by a whole kennel of ugly events, 
which were sometimes controlled by those who eagerly fol- 
low even honest misfortune as if it was a generous chase. 



42 

Mr. Beattie was a man of very strong and marked 
characteristics. He liad Held almost every position of 
lionor or trust that the confiding people of " Gallant 
Little Essex " could bestow. He lived an active, ener- 
getic and honest life. But he has gone, and the places 
once occupied by him are filled by others. He was a 
man of more than ordinary mind. His researches were 
logical and thorough, and his reading (especially of 
current events) was very extensive. While Assistant 
Judge of the Essex County Courts he did more than 
assent to the opinions of the presiding judge, and often 
he maintained an opposing position and frequently his 
views were sustained by the supreme court in those cases. 

Energetic, courageous, and possessing the very soul 
of honor, he was respected by all who knew him, whether 
they were in accord with his views or not. His solicitude 
for his own was unbounded, and his friendship only 
ended with his life. Did it end there ? We hope not. 
He never under any circumstances let go the hand of a 
true friend. His resentment of an injury was very 
strong, but it did not betray him into boisterous or un- 
dignified demonstrations, nor swerve him from an honor- 
able course. 

He had no shade of hypocrisy in his being. He was 
a descendant of that Scotch race whose convictions were 
unyielding, and with parents rigorous, even to practicing 
and exacting those things from all around them which 
belonged to the most austere days of religious discipline. 



43 

lie was early imbued with deep settled principles wliicli 
lie carried through life, and which were in his mind the 
foundation of absolute fidelity and veracity, and prompted 
him to the exercise of evenhanded justice in all his do- 
ings. He was always genial, yet peculiarly reticent in 
respect to his deeper thoughts, and private or personal 
connections. He was not perfect, but would that none 
were less so. 

His energetic life brought him in contact with 
many, and into collision of interests and pursuits, yet 
seldom does a man die amid more universal and profound 
respect than he did. 

He has silently passed from our view. He was, and 
in a moment is not. For nearly half a century he has 
contributed extensively to the enterprise of Essex county, 
and has been a part of its associations and mental 
strength — associations so long and harmoniously con- 
tinued that they seem to be a part of our lives, even of 
ourselves, and while we imagine that they are immortal, 
they are gone, leaving nothing but their rich memories 
which we will cherish, until we too shall be shrouded in 
those deep mysteries which, if explored by our lamented 
friend, he will not be permitted to reveal to any living 
man. His intellect lightened and cheered our pathways, 
and his energy and strong characteristics encouraged us 
in life's pursuits. All there was, or is, of him was in his 
life and is in the memories of him, and they are all this 
side of the grave. All is this side the grave or beyond. 
There is nothing in it. 



44 

Deatli seems impossible, but we know tbe fact is 
different, and the nearest we come to realizing it is wben 
we look after those borne away by it as far as we can see 
their faint receding outlines. And in this way many of 
us have never followed a friend farther into the shades of 
eternal night than now, nor did longer or deeper shadows 
ever fall on us before. 

But life's duties awaken us from the sad reveries of 
the hour. And so we turn from the grave to speak a 
word of consolation to the true and faithful companion, 
who, stricken, sits in her arm chair thinking of the joys 
of long ago, and the hopes of the coming morning that 
shall dawn in the bright hereafter ; and a word of com- 
fort and encouragement to the large group of sons and 
daughters, and then go to imitate our late friend's virtues 
and to avoid and forget his errors. 



WARREN NOYES. 

" On many ears my words of weak condoling, 

Must vainly fall ; 
The funeral bell which in those hearts is tolling, 

Sounds over all." 

♦|C%OW different are the ties whicli bind each of us to 
■■•^ earth, and how various are the causes of grief when 
they are sundered ! From the tiny little one whose 
innocent, artless nature stirs to life the delicate sensibili- 
ties of our nature, to that strong over mastering man- 
hood, which gives us such a sense of protection, care, 
confidence and respect, run all the intermediate tones 
and touches of life. 

When the delicate and amiable go, their departure 
excites a subdued and gentle sorrow, and though deep 
and poignant, it is often soothed with the reflection of the 
happy state into which the life has gone with only the 
beginning of life's troubles. These frail beings just 
touch the borders of life, and then go gently back, noise- 

45 



46 

less, as if dissolving into the moonlight of death. But 
when the strong man dies, going in all the strength and 
glory of manhood, the sound of his going is heard afar 
off. It awakens a sentiment that runs through all the 
veins of large communities. It casts a deep shadow far 
and wide. 

When a strong man comes in contact with the world 
he stirs and enlivens all his surroundings, and imparts 
an abundance of life to individuals and communities ; 
wakes drowsy enterprise, gives greatest zest to friendship, 
speedily sends benevolence to want, charity to error and 
misfortune, and from a stem and stirring nature, sheds a 
strong yet mellow light upon the charmed circle com- 
posed of wife, children and friends. 

When such a man, in the full vigor of manhood, 
with a step keeping time with every laudable enterprise 
and purpose of life, and a heart beating in full sympathy 
with every noble hope and aspiration of the human soul, 
is hurried away, many and many are the hearts that are 
shocked at the sound of his going. They stand in awe 
before the power that can so suddenly remove so much 
of life which seemed created to live forever on earth. 
They look with tearful eyes on the last struggle with 
nature, in which (as if in admiration of his heroic endur- 
ance) she gently and by slow degrees disarms him, and at 
last reduces him to a quiet sleep, in which he has no share 
in the terrible grief in the midst of which he lies. 

And now what I have written of manhood is but a 



47 

faint picture of the life and death of Capt. Warren Noyes. 
He was born with the most sterling qualities. He in- 
herited a most wonderful physique which possessed re- 
markable motive power, but which was controlled by a 
most generous nature, so that if he ever pursued or 
punished a wrong or contemptible act, his large heart 
made ample amends for any over zeal he might have 
manifested. Thus strongly equipped he started in life in 
that school which rigidly taught frugality, honesty, and 
the most thorough industry. 

He was born into the great railway enterprise of the 
country and, as it grew in the confidence of the public, he 
grew with it. His engine became his favorite. He 
seemed to enter into the very life of it, (for engines some- 
times seem to be alive,) and with his own broad common 
sense he had not only learned her mechanism, but also 
her nature and wants to the minutest details. 

But when he rose to the position of Master Mechanic, 
and so quickly saw the nature of the work, and read the 
nature of his men, as to be able to effect the most perfect 
organization and harmony in his department, he was fixed 
in the confidence of the company and the public, and in 
the gratitude of his workmen, where he will live in 
memory till the expiring breath of the last one, who will 
die blessing the " Father of the Gorham shopmen." 

He was urged into the legislature, and was a vigor- 
ous and effective legislator, but he declined to go farther. 
He loved the chosen business of his life. He had learned 



48 

much the books did not tell, and learned it better than 
books could teach. Nothing but his country's peril 
would tempt him from his family and his life work, and 
he bore the same characteristics in the army that 
possessed him in early and home life. 

The many qualities which I have attributed to Capt. 
Noyes always must beget perfect fidelity. No influence 
tending in the least degree to divorce him from his family 
or friends could possibly enter his great heart. A truer 
friend never lived, and his friendship was perfectly un- 
selfish and self sacrificing. 

But he has left them all. It seems still and lonesome 
where he was. The sound of the hammer is heard 
farther off. The forge fires seem less glowing; and 
when consciousness calls back his memory each engine 
bell seems a funeral bell. His Knightly brethren weep 
for him, but they have the consolation that on his heart 
was deeply graven, " Fidelity," encircled by the sub- 
lime motto, ^' In hoc Signo Vinces.^^ His comrades in 
arms are waiting the sound of that eternal reveille which 
will take them to join the gallant and lamented Captain. 
His lodge mourns his loss, but rejoices that he is not 
forever lost, and that he has found a greater and truer 
word than ever was pronounced on earth. The brethren 
of the mystic tie see through deep shadows of grief his 
chains fall to earth, while the Angel of Mercy shadows 
him and proclaims the three mystic words immortal. His 
family and friends are glad that he has lived and filled so 



49 

large a space with usefulness, and poured so mucli into 
tHe world's cup of benevolence and liumanity. They are 
not so ungrateful as to repine at his going, and exercise 
no gratitude for his coming and the rich inheritance 
which he has left. He lived and bore the great responsi- 
bilities of life with magnificent courage and fidelity. His 
death was heroic, firm and consistent. And so we sadly 
leave him to his rest. 



long life of industrious accumulation garners up 
mucli of the mental tilings wliicli belong to life, 
and wliicli are so interesting and useful, and wliicli we 
fondly hope will survive the grave and be enjoyed beyond 
the borders of time ; for it cannot be that all the results 
of the care and toil bestowed in the cultivation of the 
human mind are to go out with an expiring breath. To 
the individual his own conceptions and his own conscious- 
ness of himself is all there is of him, (or all there seems 
to be). All external objects are to him merely incidental 
to his being. But his existence is very much to others ; 
and the larger and the more complete space he fills in the 
world the greater is the void when he goes. 

Seldom has there gone a man who left so much of 
friendship, respect and reverence, as has the Christian 
gentleman whose loss we now deplore. When he died at 
Bryant's Pond, Me., on the 27th day of September, 1890, 

50 



51 

the Rev. L. H. Tabor took from the world a presence 
which can never be replaced. The reaper then bore 
away a much richer harvest of all that pertains to men- 
tality, fraternity and humanity than usual. Our friend 
has gone beyond the sound of human voice, and beyond 
the reach of approval or blame by the living. 

And now what we say, we say to and for ourselves, 
and for our own consolation. For the sake of ourselves 
and his memory we would speak of him as he is and was. 
His life is now among the things which affect the living 
only. It has crystalized into a mass of grand and inter- 
esting memories. Looking backward we see him vigor- 
ous in body, more rugged in mind and immensely strong 
in personal and religious influence. He was, and still is. 
He was a living reality. He is in the deep, grand mem- 
ories of his lifelong friends. We once thought with him. 
We now think of him. We then walked with him. We 
now grope along the paths marked by him. Those who 
do not follow his religious courses, endeavor to imitate 
his Christian and gentlemanlj^ ways in going their own. 
Fori iin n te Scnex ! 

Yes, fortunate old man ! Fortunate in all his pleas- 
ant relations. Those silver cords, strong paternal threads, 
that bound him to his own loved daughter were never 
lost or loosed. His marital relations too were always 
tuned to a harmony produced by loving hearts and will- 
ing hands, which were reciprocated by a gallant and 
chivalrous man. His friendships lasted through life, 



52 

and live, like liis influence, right on beyond his death. 

He was a man of decidedly masciiline tendencies, 
with a most vigorous physique and lionlike voice, while 
in his symyathies he was as tender as a girl. He could 
denounce what he disapproved with a storm of denuncia- 
tion, and yet portray the love of the Creator in terms 
most gentle, pathetic, and becoming. Probably no man 
in Vermont, in his day, made a more deep or lasting im- 
pression on his denomination than did Mr. Tabor. 
Original in thought and expression he moved his people 
with great influence nearer to the middle and more con- 
servative and consistent doctrines of his church, especially 
to the benefits and necessities of repentance, the expedla- 
tion of a reasonable punishment, and the restraining in- 
fluence of such belief, as well as to the bright hopes which 
keep the souls of men from despair. He formulated 
much which he thought to have existed in too indefinite 
conceptions. 

He was neither a recluse nor a man of the world. 
He never shrank from the duties of a citizen, or sought 
preferment. In i860 he was urged to represent his town 
(Concord) in the Legislature owing to the pendency of 
a matter of great importance to his constituents. He 
commenced by gaining the respect and esteem of his op- 
ponents which he retained through life. He soon became 
one of the first men of the House, and especially one of 
its strongest debaters. He never had else to do with 
politics (as it occurs to the writer now) except to vote 
and express his opinion as a good citizen always should. 



53 

As a busy, a(5live, enterprising man lie filled the 
minds of many. His energy was admirable. His genial 
presence enlivened all. He inspired an affection, height- 
ened and intensified by respedl. But the exercise of all 
his manly qualities has ceased ; and we stand around 
his grave awed into silence, and submission to a power 
before which the strongest man is turned to dust. As 
we mentally follow him from an animated life, to the 
great darkness that even overshadows our understand- 
ing, it seems to us like going out from a bright, sunlit 
day, and from all the animated sounds produced by man 
and nature, into the cold, damp and darkness of a night 
hushed to absolute silence. So still ; oh, how still ! 
And here we stand crying with voices that startle us in 
the dread stillness : Oh ! what shall the morning be ? 
Through what deep mysteries shall kindred hearts be 
reunited ? But before the fiery darts of scorn and pride, 
faith never retreats. It always remains above the dead 
and amid the dying. But to him how vain are all the 
utterances of the living! Our emotions move him 
not, and they should be controlled and directed with 
reference to ourselves alone. Then, paying a last sad 
tribute of respe<5l to his memory, let us turn from the 
grave to live our little time, thankful that heaven has 
vouchsafed to us in enduring form rich memories of him 
who seems to be going along with us yet. 

«' Nor further seek his merits to disclose, 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 
(There they alike in trembling hopes repose) 
The bosom of his Father and his God," 



LEVI SILSBY. 

HEN we look upon life or nature in its varied 
forms we observe certain objects, like trees in 
tbe forest, wliicb distinguisb tbemselves from their sur- 
roundings. They are distinguished in our observation and 
memory from those which make up their environment. 
And so it is with men. After long and active lives they 
become imprinted on the minds of communities. 

I/Ooking back thirty or fifty years we see men iden- 
tified with the history and the interests of Essex County ; 
men like Dr. Dewey, the Beatties, Hartshorns, Judge 
Brooks, the Darlings, the Silsbys, and many others that 
will take their places in the minds of Essex County peo- 
ple at a suggestion. Not most prominent of all, perhaps, 
was the late Hon. Levi Silsby, of Lunenburg, but no 
more characteristic man ever lived and died in the county. 
Hardy, energetic, absolutely and uncompromisingly hon- 
est, industrious and faithful to his friends, terribly tena- 

54 



55 

cious of Ills opinions, but with a mind broad enough and 
generous enough to respect the rights and opinions of 
others. As a public man he was very useful. The pre- 
dominant attribute in his character was perfect fearless- 
ness in relation to public or private matters. He ex- 
hibited great courage in announcing his views and main- 
taining them, and he contributed to every department of 
society the results of his energies. As a politician he 
was somewhat partisan, but was always consistent and 
loyal, and these qualities gave him a real influence be- 
yond what was apparent. As a representative of his 
town he was a thorough working member, and whatever 
he touched felt his influence. The expression that 
would seem to best convey an idea of his prominent 
qualities would be, " the elements were so mixed in 
him that nature might stand up and say, this was 
a man." As an Assistant Judge he exercised a 
superior financial ability in respect to the affairs 
of the county, which is the most essential qualification 
for the position. His social qualities were fine, and 
beneath a rough and somewhat stormy exterior there 
played the finest sentiments of friend ; and in all his 
domestic relations he was tender and considerate. 

Living in the good old New England style, always 
in the same town, rearing a large and interesting 
family, he lived and died as one might well wish to do 
himself. He had reached his three score years and ten 
and gradually, with all the attendance the world could 
give, he went to rest. 

» 1 am glad that lie has lived thus long, 
And glad that he has gone to his reward ; 
Xor deem that kindly nature did him wrong, 
Softly to disengage the vital cord " 



WILLIAM S. LADD. 

MHHN death comes to one who is indifferent to 
social, literary or forensic life, to one who has 
not taken hold of life and appropriated all its interesting 
incidents with lively zest, and has not been keenly alive 
to its importance, he will go away amid corresponding 
indifference. But when, with the scythe and the hour 
glass, the messenger runs by all such, and reaches the 
front ranks in social and intellectual life and suddenly 
severs countless cords that bind the victim to a world of 
beating hearts, then the keenest sensations are stirred to 
life and most lively acclivity. 

It is a wonderful thing to live ; yet death takes all 
when life is ended, intellect, learning, hopes, loves, 
fears, joys and sorrows, — everything there is of earth. 

And now we may speak no more to the late Hon. 
William S. Ladd. He is so still and irresponsive. From 
us his ripe learning, his true friendship, his honest and 

56 



57 

practical counsels, are gone; all gone. His going can- 
not be looked upon with stoicism. It will not avail to 
say, "This must needs occur to us all. It is in the nature 
of things that he should die." 

These considerations do not ward off the terrible 
shock we feel at his sudden going. It is true as we ap- 
proach the brink the scenes shift. We look at the ob- 
jects before us with changed views, with different natures 
and emotions. We make our exit from the world more 
reconciled but not more indifferent than if from life's 
fresh morning, when hopes are young, when unsuspect- 
ing love and friendship fill the hour, when happy youth 
sees only the golden bowl from which they quaff the 
fresh cool waters of their early lives ; and when what 
seems to be (for all purposes of happiness to them) is. 
Our friend so intensely interested in life did not wish to 
die ; and so when kindly nature gave him notice he 
accepted the friendly warning and tried to avert it. He 
had no childish fears, but prudently and heroically tried 
to avoid the danger. He rode on horseback. He walked. 
He tried to avoid work and excitement, but his friends 
and clients were numerous and pressed hard upon him 
and he was crowded beyond life's brink. So to go when 
reason is ripe, and when the man is capable of looking 
upon the probabilities of going, having consistent views 
and feelings, is a blessing to any man. And so, 

" Seeing that death, a necessary end, 
Will come when it will ccme," 



58 

lie began to prepare for it, cautious tliat he might not 
disturb others. 

It seems to me like yesterday when I saw him first. 
He was fresh from college, with a rich store of learning 
none of which seemed to me to be cheap. It struck me 
that he was as well equipped for life's v/ork as any 
young man whom I knew. As the author of " Home, 
Sweet Home " wrote and sang in notes of supernal beauty 
of its pleasures and happiness because he conceived the 
loftiest notes of his song in the street without a home, 
and while looking through bright lighted windows into a 
pleasant home circle, so I, who had scarcely seen the 
schools, looked upon his store of learning with like in- 
tensity and interest. 

Judge Ladd was one of a few rare minds from whom 
I borrowed much, and to whom a poverty of learning 
forbade my making fit returns, but they brought rich 
mental gifts from colleges and generously gave to others. 

We walked and talked on the bank of the river. I 
omit much we said of interest to us that I may be as im- 
personal as the emotions of this hour will permit. He 
had that day been associated with the brilliant and 
accomplished Burns in the defence of a suit. Young 
Ladd had prepared the defence. I am not sure but it 
was his first case. I sought by a certain move to sur- 
prise him but it was no surprise. He was prepared at 
every point, and Burns in elegant style only ornamented 
the structure that the young lawyer had so strongly 



59 

built. His conversation that afternoon took a wide 
range, for his miscellaneous reading had been very ex- 
tensive, (and he kept it up through life) and he had 
very fine conceptions of belles-lettres. We talked of the 
grand old masters of oratory, and although he said he 
did not expect to excel in oratory, and should not aspire 
to, he had studied the old models very much, and ex- 
hibited rare taste in his reviews and critisims, and in his 
comparison of ancient and modern styles. He discovered 
strong and clear ideas of men and books, and showed by 
his talk that they had made distinct and deep impressions 
on his mind. Among other subjects he spoke of Lord 
Brougham. He admired him much. He reviewed his 
speech in defence of Queen Caroline, the peroration in 
which Brougham had re-written eight times. He spoke 
of it from a legal point of view, and then reviewed its 
literary merits and developed from it a far deeper mean- 
ing than I had ever seen in it, especially that portion in 
which he draped Jachimo in a literary illusion and pre- 
sented him as a sample of the bulk of " this filthy cargo " 
borne against the Queen. And so we walked and talked, 
he alwaj'^s suggesting beauties beyond what I had 
reached in ever};' book mentioned, although I had care- 
fully read it, until, as we turned to go back to the Court 
House, our long shadows reached far up on the grass 
land, and there was cemented a friendship which was 
secure through life. We did not think or talk of death. 
We were contemplating life then, its hopes, its possibili- 



6o 

ties, and its most direct roads to success in our pro- 
fession. Our day was just dawning. We were just in 
the gray of its beautiful morning. 

And then the last time I saw him was the day after 
he had received his first warning. He saw its deep 
significance, but spoke of it with that courage and con- 
sistency which had characterized him through life. He 
spoke of his impressions of it as being like a dream and 
not unpleasant. And so I saw him at the beginning and 
substantially at the close of his professional life. And 
the interval was so full of honesty, candor, fidelity, 
(especially to his clients,) and work, that I could write 
of it for hours. But I do not quite like to be betrayed 
into feelings of tender friendship beyond what is con- 
sistent. I prefer to speak of him with more courage, to 
be more obedient to the golden rule. 

As a lawyer he knew the law. As an adviser he did 
not enter into the prejudices or desires of his clients. He 
did not seek what his less informed client wished, but 
what he needed. He was not swerved by his desires, 
nor did he become his advocate at once, but assumed the 
attitude of an impartial judge, looking at both sides of 
the case. He eliminated all that was immaterial in the 
client's statement, stripped it of its verbiage, and arranged 
the material facts in their order. His system, together 
with a strong logical mind, constituted him a very safe 
adviser. His ravenous appetitite for learning, caused 
by his early country home life, induced him to fill his 



6i 

mind with a large stock, and his strong logical faculties 
prevented any confusion. He was absolutely independ- 
ent, but not obstinate, in respect to his opinions. He 
was honest, and never swerved from his convictions by 
any desire to please his clients or associates. His argu- 
ments in court were solid, consistent, logical, and well 
considered, though nervously delivered and sometimes 
with hesitating pauses. He was too good a lawyer to 
make stump speeches in court. His mind was judicial, 
and well stored to begin with, and constantly replenished 
with the current legal literature of the day. His appro- 
priate place, it always seemed to me, was on the bench, 
where his rich store of mental accumulation could be 
best appropriated and made most useful. But he has 
gone, leaving the rich results of his works to bless his 
survivors. 

I am in the beautiful village where he lies, so still 
and peaceful. It is sunrise to me, and reason and hope 
says it is to him. No one is stirring yet, and I feel lone- 
some, and fear I may be betrayed by my emotions into 
being garrulous. 

Judge Ladd's death brings us as near to the sacred 
gate that opens into the great unknown as we have ever 
been before. The shadows would be very deep if it were 
not for the great law of compensation. His fortunate 
life is secure. He reached a success beyond his most 
sanguine hopes when he started. He died as he wished. 
He escaped the nervous vexations of old age. He was 



62 

spared the long weary task of gazing listlessly, and 
the impressive apprehensions of a mental decline. He 
gave to the world the best efforts of an honest, indus- 
trious, faithful life ; to his family a courageous protection, 
wise counsels, the fondness of a devoted husband and 
father. He bequeathed to his own not only his earnings, 
which now look insignificant, but more than all, the 
rich memories of a life filled with all that could adorn the 
lawyer, the judge, and, what is higher than all, the man. 
And in this (although it is not full compensation for his 
death) we find comfort and consolation enough to banish 
despair and unreasonable repinings. Nothing remains 
to us but " hope for the dead and consolation for the 
living." It must be well with him for he has gone to 

" Swell the deep bass of duty done, 

And strike the key 

Of time to be 
When God and Man shall be as one." 



LEWIS F. BIGELOW. 

fljl S the sounds of soft music die away, and tone is 
'^^^ swallowed up in time, so Has passed away a social 
and melodious life. As silence succeeds song, so has the 
stillness of death succeeded the harmonious life of Mr. 
L. F. Bigelow, who died at Island Pond, on Sunday, July 
26, 1 89 1, aged 51 years. In life he was possessed of that 
frail and sensitive temperament best adapted to the culti- 
vation of music, in the arrangement, execution and 
teaching of which he had been for many years without a 
local superior. He was bom and passed his childhood at 
Brownington, came to Island Pond early in life, and 
went with our brave Gen. Thomas in the 8th Vt. to New 
Orleans, was in the Red River expedition and at Algiers. 
A general debility followed him from the army, and he 
has had all he could do to fill his engagements since, 
gradually failing until he was obliged to quit work en- 
tirely. He leaves a wife and young daughter. Mr. 
Bigelow has been so intimately connected with all 
the social features of society, and has been so intimate 
socially, that he will be missed by many warm friends. 

63 



JANE A. (MORSE) MANSUR. 

^^HB history of another life is told so far as it can be 
^^ by mortals. Each life has its own special interest 
and each death its peculiar sadness. The individual 
possesses in himself or herself but a small part of that 
which makes up the earthly existence of each. We our- 
selves are not all there is of us. Our associations with 
and relations to others are a great part of our being and 
of what makes life interesting and death sad. 

The varied and intimate relations that Mrs. Jane A. 
(Morse) Mansur sustained until her death at Island 
Pond, October 24, 1891, made up a life of unusual interest 
and usefulness. She was born in Barnet, February 11, 
1808, and was a daughter of John and Jeannette Morse, 
and the last of eleven children. She came on horseback 
forty-five miles in one day to Morgan when fifteen years 
of age, guided only by spotted trees. She married 
Warren Mansur at Morgan, August 15, 1825, and bore 

64 



65 

him fourteen children, eight of whom survive her, and 
one of whom is Col. Z. M. Mansur. In humble toil she 
gave in earlier life a mother's anxious care, and in age 
received rich returns of kindest filial comfort and support. 
She lived in Morgan thirty-three years and in Bast 
Charleston twenty, and came to Island Pond in 1881. 
Among the earliest settlers she was intimately and 
extensively connected by affinity and consanguinity. 

Hers was an attractive though humble life. It was 
surrounded during many of the most interesting years 
by the stern romance of forests. It was supplied by 
those pure and fresh but scanty opportunities which the 
then rude but neat circumstances afforded for literary 
and religious privileges, and which gave keen appetite 
for and zest to pure and mental training. She lived in 
a day when little communities were supported by strong 
and hardy men, and influenced and sometimes controlled 
almost absolutely by uncompromisingly yet modest and 
unpretending womanly virtues. 

She early saw that she was born into the grandest 
and most worshipful sphere in social life, and labored 
with patience and true womanly skill until she achieved 
an almost perfect model of a fond self-sacrificing mother 
and devoted wife, deftly arranging and throwing around 
her family circle all those Christian virtues with which 
God and nature had endowed her. She constantly 
practiced the stern humility of the Church, of which she 
was a consistent member, and held her Church in such 



66 

esteem and fond affection as was second only to that of 
her family. Married to a man of numerous relations, 
whose traditions reflected the light far back into the past, 
she had a wide field for the exercise of those kindly 
traits and motherly cares which so happily distinguished 
her ; and the most queenly word "mother" will thrill 
more hearts than those of her own sons and daughters. 

But those cheerful smiles are hidden in the shades 
that precede a brighter morning than any on which she 
had yet been awakened. Her sweet counsels are secure 
in the storehouse of memory, but she will utter no more 
to earthly ears. She lies, so still and peaceful, amid 
memories so pure, so kind, so "good, and so secure, that 
they would weigh against the wealth of all the world. 
Shall that sad, sweet stillness be disturbed ? Not yet. 
Let friends stand awhile in this silence. They must 
and will, like a group of little children in their cottage 
home when the mother leaves them awhile some dark 
still night to gather around the fireside. Though closely 
grouped each seems to be alone. They listen not to 
each other's voices, but eagerly for the sound of her 
footstep for which they have such terrible longings. In 
childish faith they say we shall surely hear it. So shall 
it be with hers. You feel and know that in gladness you 
will hear it, but not until morning, for she will be all 
night with the dead. 

" In your ears, till hearing dies, 
One set slow bell will seem to toll 
The passing of as sweet a soul 
As ever looked with human eves." 



JOHN GREGORY SMITH. 

fl^j more than ordinary man lies dead in Vermont. 
-^^ There is a lifeless form that heeds no envious 
thought, no cynical critcism and no self-appointed censor's 
utterances. He who once was a human being, as such 
(or in any manner or nature,) is absolutely indifferent to 
any judgment man can make or pronounce, and to all 
enquiry except that of the Great Eternal. 

Let any man before he presumes to pass upon the 
details of a great man's life, or the means by which 
he accomplished a great life work, observe his immediate 
surroundings. Let him have a care in this instance that 
the views he takes come not through mental cameras 
which distort, diminish or magnify. Let him speak of 
him as he was, and set down truly his opportunities and 
the difficulties he encountered. The primitive Green 
Mountain Boys had only a common foe to contend with. 
No one envied their work or their hardships. Their lives 

67 



68 

from tlie very circumstances that surrounded them could 
create no envies or jealousies. Contrast that as a situa- 
tion into which nothing could come but approval, and in 
which everything ran in harmony with the desires and 
inclinations of all, with the surroundings of the foremost 
man in all the state, in some respects, in its development 
and progress. While Allen and Warner in rougher 
times severed certain territory from neighboring incho- 
ate state organizations and builded a state solid, rugged 
and enduring, he in more polished and systematic times 
established one of New England's greatest arteries of 
commerce through which, and its connections, rushed a 
mighty current to the seaports and back again, distribut- 
ing itself into every hamlet and every home in the land. 
He toward whose fresh grave the eyes of all Vermont are 
turned, created the setting of a commercial act, and ex- 
hibited to the bewildered eyes of the dwellers in all the 
long and rugged mountain passes a giant movement, 
w^hich in a superstitious age would be taken for the 
thunder of gods; he controlled for more than half a 
century more of the machinery which developed the 
state than any other man, and devoted his individual 
attention to the exclusive interests of the state and en- 
terprising men in it, turning aside only when 

" Liberty wept for the man in blue 
And sighed for the niaii in gray; " 

and when he stamped that period in the history of Ver- 
mont with those heroic features which distinguished it 
from all others. He was entrusted with more state secrets 



69 

by the federal government than probably any other man 
in like situation, and went to his work as War Governor 
with even greater energy than he had ever displayed in 
peaceful enterprises, and brought to his work an unex- 
pected genius, exercising that delicate skill, prudence 
and caution so much demanded by the crisis, yet his life 
touched all along innumerable antagonisms. 

His whole life was a constant warfare. He was so 
bound up in his life work that he had no time for other 
ambitions. It may not be said of him that he had un- 
seemingly political aspirations, for twice he turned aside 
from the highest position in the gift of the state. Most 
of his participation in public affairs was induced in self- 
defence. He was in the midst of commercial rivalries. 
He was in position best calculated to engender jealousies 
and envy. He was constantly called upon to reconcile 
his enterprise with conflicting interests or to defend it 
against them. Few men have undertaken more than he. 
To be successful he must needs harmonize the views of 
the people long accustomed to provincial ways and man- 
ners in business with the discipline and system absolutely 
indispensable in the management of railroad affairs. He 
was constantly called upon to encounter legislatures 
whose members had little practical knowledge of railroad 
business, and who, however friendly or intelligent, could 
not know practically in all cases just where or how his 
work touched the public interests, or how any rule of law 
that might be prescribed by them would affect his work. 



70 

He was in advance of the times in which he lived, in 
commercial progress. He was among a people, elevated 
by their customs and habits in not only a moral, but, 
being studious, in an educational point of view, but hid- 
den by mountains from a full view of their surroundings, 
they did not feel the direct influence of those currents of 
the commercial world until they were opened up and set 
in motion in their very midst ; and so they naturally 
conformed slowly to the changes which have brought 
Vermont into complete harmony with the commercial 
world ; and it is fitting that she stand in sad and respect- 
ful silence at the grave of one who, instead of fawning 
for favors or hypocritically posing as a patriot or high- 
toned martyr, early saw the situation, seized the oppor- 
tunity, and developed the greatest interests of the state. 
His was no place to cultivate the tender affections of the 
people. He dealt with stern realities and the rigid dis- 
cipline of circumstances, and commanded respect. 

His attainments in law, letters, and in a knowledge 
of the vital interests of the state were probably as varied 
as those of any man of his day. Some men in Vermont 
have attained greater heights than the late John Gregory 
Smith, in law, literature, statesmanship, war, or some 
other specialty, but Vermonters will turn from his grave 
to look in vain for a man who will be so long and so in- 
timately connected with her progress and material inter- 
ests, who will do more for her advancement in every res- 
pect, or whose death will take from her so much of her 
substance. 



JEAN BAPTISTE GONYA. 

♦flp^OW seldom does a man fulfill the desirable condi- 
■■*^ tions of his destiny ! The three principal 
beacons which enable life's mariner to sail safely and 
smoothly to harbor, are the light of his home, the light of 
his church, and the shining light of childhood, no matter 
how humble or of what kind, if they correspond to his 
wants and desires. To be unsettled in reference to either 
of the two first, or unfortunate in respect to the last, con- 
fuses and delays a man just in proportion to the space 
each ought to light. But when a man dies who has 
possessed and enjoyed all these conditions during a very 
long life, the grief which attends his going out is softened 
and rendered consistent by a comforting reconciliation. 

Jean Baptiste Gonya was born August ii, 1800; 
married September 5, 1832, and died May 12, 1892. His 
was a humble, unpretending life. He had adlive en- 
joyment in early years, and was livel}^ and pleasant 

71 



72 

whether rafting on Canadian waters or in his frugal 
little home. Blessed with a wife equal to any emergency 
he never wanted for the greatest comforts of home, which 
are the things most needed, and which came to him just 
in the time they were wanted and appreciated ; and when 
in the natural order of nature the time came to her, on 
whom he so much depended, to go, he found himself in 
the midst of a(5live, enterprising children, ready and 
willing to furnish him everything to satisfy his 
economical desires. The man was old, but his heart was 
young, for his ways had been so unobtrusive that it had 
never been hurt in coming in contact with the world. 
The river was so quiet and so smooth at last, that one 
could not see a ripple to tell where it left off and the 
great waters began. Many will miss the genial and un- 
pretending greetings of the pleasant old man. 




CC/ ^4.^,-^^L.^,^.,^ ^y /^^Ll^^z^^^^^ 



CHARLES E. BENTON. 

I BATH always brings sadness, the intensity and 
extent of wiiicli depends upon tlie conditions and 
area of the surroundings of the subject. No man, in the 
community in which he lived and died, sustained more 
extensive or varied relations than did Mr. Benton. 
He was a<ftive and fearless in his methods and practices, 
and yet he was conciliatory. In matters of religion, 
education, politics, business and social life, he was a keen 
and careful observer, and generally, especially when 
aroused, a determined and vigorous actor. He was not a 
man of constant adlivity, but he possessed bold, distinct 
and practical ideas of business, and the principles which 
should determine the rights and actions of men, and had 
a somewhat impulsive, but distinct and frank manner of 
expressing them. 

Although a member of the bar, his position as clerk 
of the courts prevented his entering into controversial 

73 



74 

matters in court, but his advice was much sought and 
highly esteemed. He was more distinguished by his 
practical business traits and broad common sense than 
by any display or ornamental accomplishments. 

From boyhood memories and admiration of the man, 
he was a Henry Clay whig, and came along with the 
Republican party and was always in accord with it. His 
influence in it was always felt, whether on the state com- 
mittee, as representative, senator, or in his private inter- 
course with his associates. 

Coming from hardy ancestry he inherited a strong 
and somewhat rugged physique, but beneath a vigorous 
and masculine exterior, played the most genial, compan- 
ionable and tender sentiments. As it happens to most 
men whose physical structure is largely developed in 
early life by vigorous manual employment, sedentary 
habits affected him unfavorably. The blow that suddenly 
fell upon him startled his friends, but he had been 
descending a gentle declivity for a long time before he 
died. " The beginning of the end " was farther back 
than a casual observer would notice. Ever since fifteen 
years or more ago, when he experienced the loss of a prom- 
ising young son, in whom he had a father's pride and 
hope, a shadow seemed to have fallen upon him. To my 
mind he has since then exhibited less inclination to 
buoyancy of mind and bodily activity. 

I would describe him faithfully — truly. I cannot 
do it fully for no man can describe the mental character- 



75 

istics of another any more tlian lie can the emotions of 
his own soul. I know that through friendship we may 
see many good qualities in a friend not disclosed to com- 
mon observation, but speech concerning a prominent or 
public man should neither exaggerate his virtues nor 
falsely deny his faults. We sometimes refer to our per- 
sonal friendship with those now gone, but I often think 
that such talk should be restricted to the ears of those in 
close relation with the subject, for the common world will 
listen to such words only with an indifference that 
almost seems to rebuke and chagrin the friend who 
utters them. His position as County Clerk, and more 
recently as Judge of Probate, by virtue of which he held 
courts around the county and among the people, probably 
brought him into more intimate relations with the people 
of this county than any other man of the time sustained. 

Being called by his positions and surroundings to be 
concerned in more of the business, social and political 
concerns of the county than any other man of his day, 
our friend who has gone was more than any other ex- 
posed to criticism, but it was of that kind that passed 
away with the occasion, and I believe that not a single 
bitter memory will live after him. 

A plain, practical, hearty, unassuming man, and a 
man of rugged and deep sentiments and sympathies has 
gone. 

His presence was felt by his friends and the place 
filled by him will refill slowly. His being was substan- 



76 

live, his speech was graphic and forceful, his laugh was 
hearty, and his life, until it began slowly to go, was 
full of zest. 

Mr. Benton was happy in almost every one of the 
essentials of life; in having boys who early and am- 
bitiously started into life, each running quickly in the 
right direction through the schools ; and more than in 
all else was he happy in the union of his life with one 
who was entirely devoted to him, one whose true womanly 
courage rose in corresponding proportion to his decline 
and bravely met the emergencies of his every situation 
and condition. 

We can only speak concerning our late friend, but 
if I could speak to him I would not call him back, but 
bid him go on ; for as we the surviving comrades of 
almost forty years are hurrying along after him, we run 
more willingly because we are following the dear old 
associates of swift and ardent lives into a more genial 
clime. Hope tells us this is so, and we listen to her 
anxiously and approvingly because it is she who has 
made life so grand and death so consistent. It is not 
good or brave to war with death. It is not reason to 
arraign a kind Providence when bearing a grief that wars 
with nature, but with subdued sadness let us rather say : 

" Peace ; come away ; the song of woe 
Is after all an earthly song ; 
Peace ; come away; we do him wrong 
To sing so wildly ; let us go." 



MRS. PORTER. HINMAN. 

yH^RS. Mary P. Hinman, wlio died at Waterbury, 
^ *B»J -vvliere she resided with her grandson, Porter H. 
Dale, was almost the last of her generation. Her age was 
seventy-six years, and few of those who started with her 
in life are now living. 

As Mary P. Wilder, and daughter of Abel Wilder, 
she was a relative of Marshall P. Wilder, so well known 
in New England, and of many of the family now living in 
Vermont ; and as the wife of the late Porter Hinman, she 
had still more numerous relationship with the very first 
settlers of the good old town of Derby, so rich in 
traditions, filled with the interest, romance and adven- 
ture of first-class frontier life. 

Although we are still near the beginning of our New 
England communities, yet their characteristic features 
are growing more and more obscure to the eyes of those 
now living. Very few who possess the training and 

77 



78 

customs of our first settlers remaiu to us. Those of us 
who first saw the light shining through the wide spreading 
branches of trees that surrounded the " clearing," look 
through the holy memories of childhood upon those 
grand, devoted, kind and genial men and women who link 
us to primitive New England with the reverence that 
antiquity awakens in the mind for far off generations. 

As the mind of the child, through mystery and the 
liveliest imaginations, sees most vividly the wonders 
which burst upon its sensitive vision, so do we older 
children see, through the mystery of an ancestral death, 
the virtues which have filled and adorned the lives of the 
fathers and mothers who cleared the way and laid the 
foundations of happy, cultivated communities. If they 
were clothed upon with rugged ideas and austere manners, 
like their garments of very reliable and comfortable 
homespun fabrics, they covered as kindly, true and de- 
voted hearts as ever beat in the bosom of man or woman. 
Very few remain who were made heroic b}^ necessities 
incident to pioneer life. Good qualities are now less 
stable, more cultivated, less inflexible, but perhaps more 
abundant than in the olden time of the fathers. 

As we look back through the lights and shadows of 
the past it sometimes seems that the sunshine was 
brighter and more cheerful in the settler's little clearing 
than anywhere else, and that the recollection of its scenes 
is among the most pleasing. But of all the delicate, 
tender and interesting recollections of life none are more 



79 

so than the childlike memories of a rural home ; and the 
good Christian grandmother whose form and being are 
softl}^ melting into pleasant tradition is the most cher- 
ished of all the queenly memorials of that home. 

In such times and circumstances Mrs. Hinman lived. 
She was a fit type of that grand old school of matrons in 
the plain and homely days, when genial skies lit up the 
forest-born hopes and joys of their early lives. In that 
train, moving along in the course of woman's destin}^, 
we see her, as 

"Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing. 
Onward through life she goes; 
Each morning sees some task liegin, 
i^ach evening sees its close ; 
Something attempted, something dune, 
Has earned a night s repose." 

Though born and reared amid severe, rigid and sec- 
tarian influences tliej^ never interrupted her in the exer- 
cise of sentiments and charities of the broadest humanity. 
Unexcelled in wifely and motherly offices of good to allj 
as severe as virtue itself, and 37et as relenting as benevo- 
lence, she filled a larger space in domestic life than usually 
falls to the lot of any woman. Well may all women of 
whom she was known thank her for the lessons of fidelit}^ 
to life's relations which she has taught them. Life had 
no purposes in which she was not steadfast, and eternit}- 
has no promises so rich as to be beyond the hope and ex- 
pectation of her living friends for her. In her going 
there was an exhibition of reconciliation conquering 
death, far exceeding any victory over fear won b}^ a hero- 
ism born of passion, or hope of personal glory. 



8o 

Slie was unpretending in deportment, but severe in 
the exercise of all the virtues. As a member of the 
Congregational Church she rigidly adhered to its disci- 
pline, and worked untiringly for its interests, living in a 
faith as constant and immortal as the soul itself. Worn 
and weary with long and faithful toil, she has gone to 
that quiet, peaceful rest which all mankind dread yet 
covet. In her tired moments she said " It is well." Per- 
haps she saw the one or two of her old time girlhood 
friends rocking in tired, sleepy age, simply waiting like 
herself for the Master's kind words, "Come in and rest." 

* Those of us who reason must not weep. But just 
before the summons came, in the hush and stillness of the 
curtained room, age and childhood embraced, the light of 
morning and evening blended and shone about the old 
life and the new, and then the shadows fell, and at the 
dawn, the new life was alone, and she must needs weep. 

Come, let us go ! We can only hope that she who 
wears the kind, good, Christian woman's saintly name 
may repeat her life, and pray, 

"Oh ! Father, touch the east, and light 
The light that shone when hope was born." 

* References to the parting from her granddaiifjhter, Mary Dale, n-ho died 
at St. Petersburg, Fla., in the autumn of 1901. 



z 



HUGH DONAHUE. 

HB long funeral procession whicli followed the re- 
mains of Hugh Donahue to his last resting place 
in the Roman Catholic cemetery showed that it was an 
occasion of more than usual interest and sadness. His 
occupation had been such as to bring him in immediate 
contact with the general public, and he made friends of 
everybody and provoked no enmity. He was a kind, 
genial boy who always did his best to make things cheer- 
ful around him. His remarkable activity, lively and 
pleasant ways, and accommodating disposition, were so 
strangely in contrast with him dead as to arrest the at- 
tention and excite the sad interest of every one who knew 
him. As the long train moved along carrying him away 
it bore none but good thoughts of "Cuey." His grave 
presents a pleasing object lesson teaching that the hum- 
blest of human beings who lies down amid pleasant 
memories, unmixed with scorn or hate, has a resting place 
that kings might covet, and that all the kind words that 
may be said of him are only cheap return for the many 
little kindly offices he did for those who say them. 



MARTHA M. BUCK. 

-^^HE kaleidoscope presents an endless variety of new 
^^ forms and colors. Human life exhibits the reverse. 
In it different views are constantly recurring ; but they 
are the old, old-fashioned shades of light and dark, of joy 
and sadness, and are limited. The lengthening shadows 
of the rebellion fall, constantly alternating ; now reflect- 
ing the glory of sublime lives, and again the rich, sad 
hues of patient sacrifice. 

The brave man who dies on the battlefield buoyed up 
by a determined patriotism and courage has made untold 
sacrifices, yet he is not unsupported. Soldierly courage 
and patriotic enthusiasm ever attend him, and they are 
at the highest tension and fullest usefulness up to the 
very moment of his death. But those silent, delicate, un- 
complaining sufferers who go weary and broken-hearted 
alone through long and lonesome years, seeing, knowing, 
feeling and suffering what is, and sadl}^ sighing for what 

82 



83 

miglit have been, deliberately contemplate, and constantly 
endure, a torture both mental and physical, ever increas- 
ing as the heart fails and hope dies. 

One such there was whose heart beat fast when touched 
with the news from Lees Mills, and stopped and went, in 
the suspense, and then, stirred to life by gleams of hope, 
followed the irregular and terrible carnage to the Wil- 
derness. From thence came news of all, except death, 
she ever knew, or dreamed, or feared of war's fierce agony. 
And then the news came of death itself, and came with a 
shower of hissing, stinging, scornful bullets which went 
speeding North till they reached the homes of the brave 
and the hearts they loved. Hearts which ever fluttered 
and murmured, "Oh! the hopes that are lost, and the 
hearts that are still." 

It is better "to have loved and lost than never to have 
loved at all ?" Better! For whom ? 

To go as maid and matron all alone is far from woman's 
happy destin3^ But when bright and settled hopes and 
joys and all the maternal aspirations of woman, fade and 
go out, giving place to all those qualities that are the 
types and symbols of a desolate heart, and she is com- 
pelled to walk alone amid blasted hopes, broken dreams, 
and bright realities just beyond her reach, then the con- 
trast is terrible, and the aching stillness of her journey 
reaches the intensest degree of mental suffering. 

Through such conditions Mrs. Buck had walked with 
the womanly courage and Christian fortitude of a heroine. 



84 

Following still tHe path of duty she turned to her chil- 
dren, one of whom, Walter Erastus, is in the west, and 
the other William M., here with her, almost alone of all 
her friends to attend her final going. 

She was a loving, kind, good Christian woman. I could 
say no more if I attempted to further portray her wom- 
anly qualities, for that to my mind expresses the fullness 
of woman's perfect destiny. 

The war is past ; the heroes will soon pass away, and 
when time shall turn backward to review these scenes, the 
brightest and most unselfish heroism will shine among 
those whose fond devotion suffered all and took but 
little comfort, ah ! none at all, save the old comfort of 
the glory of their lost. 

"Where manly hearts were tailing, — where 
The throngful street grew foul with death, 
Oh! high souled martyr ! thou wast there." 



GEORGE L. RAMSAY. 

^HORGE L. Ramsa}'-, who died at liis home in Lem- 
ington, Vt., December 29, 1892, was not only a 
cliaracteristic man, but belonged to a family the history 
and traditions of which are filled with events historic, 
enthusiastic and romantic, such as would most likely be 
incident to the lives of such men as in the stirring and 
closing years of the last century came from the banks of 
the Foyle and the shadows of the Grampian Hills. His 
grandfather crossed the ocean some twelve or fifteen 
times, having in charge Irish and Scotch emigrants. He 
came from the Pentland Hills in the Scottish Highlands 
to a town in New Hampshire to which he brought and 
gave the old historic name Londonderry, and from which 
Robert Ramsa}^, the judge's father, moved to Browning- 
ton, Vt., where the judge was born at what was known 
as "Ramsay's Corners" October 3, 1829. 

Moved by that restless and enterprising disposition 
which characterized the family, Geo. L. went early to 
seek employment, and found it with Aaron Aldrich in 
Faneuil Hall Market. From there he went to California, 
and after a stay of two or three years he returned and 

85 



86 

went to work for Briggs, Guile & Co., now Briggs, Shat- 
tuck & Co., Boston. As a traveling salesman for these 
wholesale grocers he formed an extensive acquaintance 
with the public. His energy, push, and companionable 
manners soon made him very popular with local traders 
and the general public, and beneficial to his employers ; 
but failing health soon compelled him to abandon what 
had become a very desirable and permanently established 
business, and from which he retired to an ample and an 
abundant farm, with which he connected a wood manu- 
factory, and engaged in those industrious and busy occu- 
pations among which he died, working up to the very 
time of his death, as all men who regard life as they 
ought, desire to do. 

Judge Ramsay had not the suaviter in modo which 
is always accompanied with a smile more or less sinister, 
but he had a real lively interest in the hopes and plans 
of friends, and talked about them with the same zest that 
he did concerning his own. He was a bold, impulsive 
man, with absolutely masculine tendencies, but his heart 
was as sensitive to the touch of suffering and want as a 
mother's, and his friendships were as touchingly tender 
and clinging as a woman's. He was one of those whose 
living is something, and whose dying is the loss of apart 
of the substance of the life of a community. To live and 
die indifferently, even escaping pains and difficulties, is 
not to be desired, but to valiantly contend with adversities 
and adventures is. To go quickly to rest amid the results 



87 

of a successful life, with plans achieved and difficulties 
surmounted, is indeed a happy exit. 

I see too plainly what the complaining and ill-boding 
spirit points me to. I see a group whose young hearts 
are filled with faculties for joyous hopes, for tender loves, 
erstwhile waiting and longing to do most kindly offices 
of good, who had stored in hope the fondest cares to be 
bestowed on a long and quiet old age. In their midst I 
see, also, her who left home, country, early joys and all 
her girlhood hopes, to centre two lives in one and all in one. 
I see, too, that the object in which all of so many lives 
was centered is gone — dead. But I see no broken vows, 
no cold contempt where love agreed to be, no indifference 
or scorn where once was that which some demon stole 
away. I see no silken cords broken by any fault of theirs. 
I only see just common death which all knew was coming 
and which is as likely to come in his time of life as any. 

And so I see them all turning from his quick relief by 
death, to his life, especially the wife and mother, for an 
example to teach her that sublime womanly courage to 
carry out the plans of him who was, and somehow is, 
till the young lives which sprung from theirs shall mingle 
anew in the world of others and be lost to sight in the 
eternal repetition of lives as little known to us as ours to 
them. 

"Her office is to rear, to teach, 
Becoming, as is meek and fit, 
A link aniong the days, to knit 
The generations each with each." 



WILLIAM HEYWOOD. 

''^r^HH subject of this tribute was born in Lunenburg, 
^^ Vt., October 6, 1804, and died at the residence of 
his son, Henry Heywood, at Lancaster, N. H., on the 
22nd day of April, 1893, after a long life of remarkable 
enterprise, probity and usefulness. His life work was so 
extensive that it would not be permissible to undertake 
more than a random reference to some of the personal 
chara(5leristics of the good old man. 

A man's own life is his horizon of human events and 
purposes. It must from the nature of things be the ut- 
most limit of his own experience and desires. His ideas 
of human destiny are shaped and limited by his own per- 
sonal aspirations. Only objects and events within his 
own touch and view are to him realities. All else is but 
common history or philosophy except as it is rendered 
personal by coming through his own experience. Yet 
each generation is filled with groups of men with common 

88 



89 

ideas and ambitions. In 3^outlifiil ardor our young am- 
bitions do not always reacb tbe liighest ends of social 
life, but in the furious beat of the desperate contest of men, 
in zealous unisons of fierce antagonisms for the common 
good of all, self is often lost in the boundless purposes ot 
all men. And so the selfish youth who is alive to those, 
keen encounters v/ithout which life is ignoble, often comes 
out from the discipline of fortune and of men a brave, 
generous, large-hearted being. It matters little whether 
he is born so or becomes so. He stands before us just the 
same. 

One such is in the mind's eye now. A venerable 
man ; perhaps the last survivor of the strifes of his da}'. 
He stood upon the brink but yesterda}^ Deep into the 
shadows of the past he looked where all the lives he once 
knew, and nearly all he ever knew, had come and gone 
loaded with noblest aims and countless errors. He looked 
upon his own achievements. How little has he wrought 
of all the great work man has done ! Yet he sees that the 
little he has done has gone into the mental substance of 
the universe. It has been done generously and self- 
sacrificingly. It is good, and he may well be content. 
He stands in rich autumnal lights while soft evening 
winds kiss the cheeks of the grand old man who now has 
vanished into the great universe from whence he came so 
little time ago; and yet such long, long time since, 
when compared with the lives of other men. Let me in 
my few remaining days look not on him, but on his life. 



90 

I will not look upon liis lifeless form. I will only see liim 
as lie was, and as we conceive lie is to be. When memory 
takes me back to him tbrougli tlie intensely interesting 
days that were, I will ask to go first to that long twi- 
light of his day, pleasant as the memories of his life, 
gradually and harmoniously deepening into that night 
which precedes the eternal day. As the setting sun 
gives glad promise of the morning, so does the going down 
and out of a ripe, pure, serious, consistent and upright 
old man. But he goes not into darkness. He travels 
with the ever circling light and leaves us in shadows. 
The earth is between him in light and us in darkness. In 
a sense he has passed from our view. His serious face, 
that index of large and deep convictions, has gone be- 
yond human vision, and we sit at the close of his day in 
the stillness and shades of death, thinking of him (too 
much as he now is) while we repeat in whispers the deep 
lessons which his life and death have taught us. 

How various in kind as well as degree are the loves 
and animosities which spring from the touch of our differ- 
ent natures ! My associations with him of whom I am now 
thinking differ from those I have ever had with any other 
human being. They are unlike those of two boys who 
hold everything in life in common; each sharing the same 
lightsome joy and zest that boyhood brings, while the 
pulse of each thrills with the same tenor in the songs of life, 
for each loves the other with a sort of amour propre be- 
cause each feels as though the other was apart of himself. 



91 

My affection for him was, and is, not like any of the pleas- 
ant associations which pass awaj^ with the passions or 
fancies of young days. It was, and is, a tender, respect- 
ful regard, born of reverence for age and experience com- 
ing from youthful sentiments which develop in the boy 
when he first comes in contact with the earnest, stern 
and almost sad mysteries of a mind having almost com- 
plete mastery of life and the science of its work. My 
connection with his life started with a curious sense of 
mystery brought on by coming in contact with a mind so 
unlike my own. The first impression was that behind 
the rugged features of the almost stern man there was a 
broad common sense filled with accumulated wisdom. 
With a covetousness intensified by want I would almost 
have robbed him of a share of it, but soon found it would 
have been no robbery for he gave us young men gener- 
ously of all he had, and had the more for all his giving. 

"For he was rich and I was poor, 
And he supplied my want the more 
As his unlikeness fitted mine." 

Day b}'- day, as light shining around some rugged 
hills develops the grandeur of their forms, the fine and 
tender qualities of his nature shone on its more rugged 
features all warmer and brighter because they were strik- 
ingly in contrast with the bold and solid outlines of the 
man, and were much subdued by a modest reticence. His 
was just such a mind as a youth, with ambitions, and 
struggling against fearful odds, is fortunate to meet. It 
was full of encouragement. It inspired hope. It woke 



92 

young minds to the substantial things which belong to 
the profession. And as he looked back on us, ''his boys," 
(as he used affectionately to call us) our paths seemed to 
grow broader and more familiar. Through the grave and 
modest decorum which he wore, the pleasantries of his 
gayer hours shone brighter b}^ the wide 3^et pleasing con 
trast. His joyous demonstrations seemed to come froi • 
an atmosphere of sad romance, and were attractive and 
modestly patronizing. And so, long, long ago, we young 
men learned to love him with a veneration that went from 
youth to age, and then returned in generous responses 
full of tender consideration, charity and benevolence. 
We admired him too because he was a characteristic man. 
Our affection for him was not a mere impulse, an ebulli- 
tion of feeling stirred by a passing circumstance or some 
temporary occasion ; it was more substantial, and wove 
us more and more into the life of a grave, serious, consis- 
tent and kindly gentleman, who wore the charm and mys- 
tery of other days, and whose purposes and friendships 
were substantial, rich and continuous through life. 

As incidental to a strong nature, of course his resent- 
ments and indignation were equally strong. He had ca- 
pacity even for anger, but it was rather the passion of 
his work and profession than anything personal. He did 
not seem to me to have had even the revengeful tenden- 
cies of other men. With him, 

"No angry cloud e'er came to stay, 
For by a smile 'twas chased away." 

He was almost doggedly obstinate. He was a determined. 



93 

lion-hearted man, exercising not so mucli in sudden sal- 
lies as in endurance and persistent courage, and yet lie 
was as modest and kindly affectioned as a girl. I speak 
of Hm now as in his most vigorous time of life. 

He was one of the first of Vermont's State Sena- 
tors, and was longer and more intimately connected with 
her legislation and jurisprudence than was, or probably 
ever will be, any other man. The history of his immense 
personal labors runs through almost the entire line of the 
Vermont Reports. He was known and loved as a kindred 
in every household in the County of Essex bj^ men, 
whose sons yet living, sat before the blazing fires in their 
early cabin homes and listened to their fathers — returned 
from Guildhall — as they discussed the mysteries of a 
court in the foreground of which always stood "Lawyer 
Heywood." He was not a man of whom the old adage 
de tnortuis nil nisi bonum could in any manner apply, 
because there was nothing in his life, reaching over the 
greater part of a hundred years of constant activities be- 
fore the public, which might not be told to the sensitive 
ears of his most intimate friends. 

No allusion now is intended to any analysis of his 
mental or professional traits. That task will be per- 
formed by others and on more fit occasions. It may not 
be a digression from the present purpose, however, to say 
that he did not charm men with fancy speech. His 
thoughts wore no ornaments. He never produced sur- 
prises by manoeuvres, but he often, with irresistible logic 



94 

and deep thouglit, marclied straight througli boasted 
structures, leaving liis adversaries surprised and cha- 
grined amid the ruin of their work wrought by causes 
deeper than the builders had ever dreamed. His words 
were thoughts ; his language substance ; his manners 
serious, profound and impressive ; while all about him 
the atmosphere seemed to be historic. He stood the cen- 
tral figure amid a throng of local mental athletes whose 
skillful work I saw and vainly sought to do. Long time 
ago, (when time is measured by a single life) he had got 
beyond rivalries, for no one presumed to rival him in 
the possession of that honor and respect which by uni- 
versal consent was conceded to be his own. He was stern 
and uncompromising in his beliefs. His political, religi- 
ous and legal convictions were limited only by his clear 
and just conceptions of, and contempt for, intolerance. 
He had not sufficient selfishness even to get just returns 
for his work, and when it was said by some that 

"God 
Had formed his feelings on the noblest plan, 
To grace at once, the lawyer and the man," 

others said, "Yes," and added, "He successfully vindi- 
cated everybody's rights but his own." But, fortunate 
old man, he had no need of gain ! He had what all the 
mercenary wealth of all the world could never purchase : 
— Golden memories of all the good he had done ; the 
grand principles which he had upheld ; the poor whom 
he had protected ; the innocence and virtue he had de- 
fended ; and the good warm consciousness of having per- 



95 

formed life's duties well. Besides, kindly nature, tlirougli 
a happy life union, had given him the sinn qua non of 
his last declining days. Filial solicitude, material sup- 
port, and a young devoted life, which years of mutual de- 
pendence and bereavement had made the care of a father's 
health and life even greater than that of her own. 

He had more and a greater variety of ability and at- 
tainments than he seemed to have ; and with an unde- 
monstrative nature he was kinder and more abundant in 
sentiments of humanity than the public knew or thought. 
And those who knew him only when subdued by age will 
never know the latent but lively sentiments which burned 
within him when his life was most intense. Can it be 
that all that substance, and all those rich qualities of 
head and heart, have gone out of existence, and that they 
were created only to just touch the earth, then go ? Have 
they no more endurance than that ? Had their creation no 
other purpose in the vast universe ? Oh ! do not fill the 
songs of human life with notes of such hollow empty 
sound. Let us not fill our hearts with a joy in his life 
that ends in almost pain. Just how this single life shall 
be woven into universal good, except as we have seen it in 
the past, it is not for us to know. It is sacrilegious to en- 
quire. "Father" Hey wood in life spoke of this to us. 
The last time many of us heard his voice in public, 

"He spoke from the treasured volimie, 
'I'he poem of his choice ; 
And lent to the rhj'me of the poet 
The candor of his voice." 



96 



He said, 



"Behold we know not anything, 
I can but trust that good will fall, 
At last — far off — at last, to all, 
And every winter change to spring." 

And now from his quiet resting place lie bids our hearts 
be still, and listen to the sentinel, 

"Who moves about from place to place, 
And whispers to the worlds of space, 
In the deep night, that all is well." 



GEORGE C. STEELE. 

|UR community was shocked to learn of the sudden 
death of Geo. C. Steele, who had so long and con- 
stantly supplied our tables with the nicely cultivated lux- 
uries of his garden. He was a pleasant, polished gentleman 
of the old school of Vermont men, and had attained the age 
of nearly 75 years. Just before his death he had been en- 
joying his usual health except experiencing a decline in- 
cident to men of his age, and last Friday was in as good 
health apparently as usual. About 4 o'clock p. m., of 
that day he went to his barn and on to a mow of hay to 
feed his cattle. Having been gone longer than usual his 
hired man went in search of him and found him helpless. 
The stricken man was quickly carried into the house, 
where he expired before medical aid could reach him. 

The death of such a man moves a little community 
like ours with unusual sadness. He was a man charac- 
terized by many marked traits. He was very unobtru- 
sive and unpretending, nicely and exactly honest and 
industrious, always attentive to his own business, and 

97 



98 

iu every way a man of the deportment of those old times 
which are passing away all too soon. 

A man having no kindred touches the world so lightl}^ 
that his going is scarcely felt at all. So, too, one numer- 
ously connected by not only ties of kindred but other re- 
lations, and who sweeps out from a busy, hurried life, is 
lightly missed and soon forgotten in the swift and noisy 
currents that go on seemingly all unmindful of his ab- 
sence. But when in a quiet New England home, scarcely 
touching the currents of a busy world, is found a com- 
plete family circle, each member representing a distinct 
link, and all a complete chain in the circle in which the 
loss of any one would bring the absence of those comforts 
and joys which father, mother, brother or sister represent, 
death cannot enter there without bringing sorrows which 
crowd into the silent chambers of the souls of the surviv- 
ors, and occupy them to the exclusion of thoughts which 
would otherwise afford relief. 

As their home comforts and joys have been abundant 
and filled with lasting devotion, so will come a long con- 
tinued sorrow, but it will be calm and consistent, and 
filled with the mighty strength of true philosophy and a 
quiet and becoming resignation which will smooth the 
paths of the survivors, leading them into new relations 
and conditions in which, in love and truth, they can ever 
repeat, "Fortunate being ! You never wronged a fellow 
being, and now neither kindly nature nor its God will 
ever do you any harm or injury." 



CHARLES W. KING. 

♦jrT might almost seem that the constantly recurring 
■■ tidings that another enterprising and seemingly 
vigorous man had gone out would lessen the weight of 
such announcements ; but such is not the nature of pub- 
lic or private bereavements. And now from its unexpec- 
ted recurrence our community is even startled to learn 
that Hon. C. W. King, of Lunenburg, died last Satur- 
day. He is taken at a time when his private and public 
relations were numerically at their height, and when all 
his ties to life were at their utmost tension. No man in 
a like sphere of life to his, seems to have centered in his 
life offices more of anxiety, and solicitude, than he. 

Enterprise, energy and absorption of a man in busi- 
ness, especially financial matters, too often dulls moral 
tone and reduces a lively zest in the personal and domes- 
tic relations of the man, but from the humanities of his 
nature they never divorced him. In the midst of the 

99 



lOO 



most perplexing and complicated work, when a pause or 
diversion permitted it, lie w^ould indulge in exhibitions 
and expressions of friendship, boyish memories, domes- 
tic allusions and moral sentiments, which from their 
freshness and soulful utterances, would show that the}^ 
had only just been laid aside for the time for the necessi- 
ties of business, and had not been hidden nor tarnished 
in the least by them. All about him was the clear ring 
of clean, moral sentiment. 

He had peculiar advantages in his starting in life. 
His mind was early awakened to the necessities and long- 
ings for education. Nature and circumstances early cre- 
ated in him a keen appetite for learning. He was not 
crammed and surfeited with training bestowed on him by 
the hands of hireling instructors, but he took it in from 
the very nature of his surroundings in life. He digested 
and arranged information as he acquired it ; so that when 
he went from the farm and the far off schoolhouse, and 
when his shadow disappeared from before the old fire- 
place he had, it is true, a limited stock of educational 
knowledge, but it was bright, and intelligently arranged, 
and it was supplemented by deep determined sentiments 
of business, morality and religion, which remained as an 
enduring foundation of his character to the day of his 
death. 

He was polite, unassuming, and never intrusive; but 
when awakened to an enterprise he entered into it with 
the utmost industry, care and anxiety, and with a will 
that always overcame the obstacles in his way. 



lOI 



His skill and prudence in financial matters attracted 
tlie attention of business men, and lie was called to as- 
sume responsibilities wbicli more tban exceeded his ca- 
pacity and time. Many a poor person bas been deprived 
of bis skill and care in tbe management of tbeir little 
affairs, when surrounded by complications and designing 
men, by tbe multitude of business wbicb was constantly 
heaped upon him. He never sought opportunities for 
business or promotion. He was called to the legislature 
of 1874 when, true to his instincts, and keenly alive to 
the necessities of rural education, he expended all the en- 
ergies of his being for the time on the subject of educa- 
tion as aided by legislation, and in 1878, (when he repre- 
sented Essex County in the Senate,) as a member of the 
committee on education he continued a work, the results 
of which will not be outlived by our common school sys- 
tem itself. He filled nearly all the minor offices in the 
gift of the people of his community, but only when his 
friends demanded his peculiar and practical abilities in 
the occurrence of the little emergencies that were upon 
them. There was always a filial and confiding feeling 
toward him, in the minds of the poor and perplexed espe- 
cially. The funds of private parties, the management of 
estates and the absolute supervision of money interests 
were intrusted to him by more individuals than he had 
time to serve. 

His convictions and friendships were clear, distinct, 
and so formulated and crystallized that no man need ask 



I02 

liow Charles W. King stood in respect to any public indi- 
vidual or any general or abstract subject. All the ele- 
ments of character that were in him were beneficially util- 
ized for his family, friends and the public ; but the loss 
by his death to the material interests of individuals or 
the public is by no means inferior to the loss of him which 
is felt socially. 

He died at the age of nearly sixty-one years, when 
his ripe counsels were most important and beneficial to 
his children, and when that rich confidence in which he 
had lived with his tender confiding life partner would be 
most rudely disturbed, and when his genial and social 
qualities, his generous humanity and most unswerving 
fidelity would be most vainly and longingly sought to be 
recalled. But there is no welcome time for death. There 
are no words which can smooth his entrance to the souls 
of wife, children or friends. None but his own when in- 
urned with him have peaceful sleep. He brings peace to 
the dead, but only trouble for the living. Yet he will 
finally furnish an untroubled couch for all. Death taken 
all in all is not a misfortune. Why should we look with 
abhorrence on that which is but an attribute of God him- 
self, who takes nothing from His universe or His eternal 
plan ! From them our friend can never go. 

But we may not blow the chilling breath of philoso- 
phy on the tender sorrowing heart of womanhood or child- 
hood. It only chills the warm good memories of their 
summer time of life, and brings no tender sympathies, or 



I03 

sweet or cheerful airs, to chase away the long, sad and 
constant hours that now will cast their shadows. Dull 
forms of speech have little comfort in them ; even reason 
has a stinted audience in such a time as this. Heaven 
send them living Faith, and cheerful Hope — messengers 
who alone can parley with sorrow. They can bid the 
troubled look up through much rejoicing in that our true, 
good friend's grave is not in a melancholy waste, but that 
it is amid glad and joyful memories of kind, good words 
and works. 



JOSiAH CONVERSE ROBINSON. 

S inunierable and various as are qualities and quan- 
tities, so numerous and diverse are the conditions 
and results of different men's lives. Classes of men may 
sometimes resemble other like classes, but each life dif- 
fers from every other. Beneficial results of a man's life 
are most felt and longest enjoyed when that life was oc- 
cupied in establishing something. Some build up and 
defend government for posterity, others invent or formu- 
late wise and equitable laws for the happiness of their 
successors, but the choicest work is done while achieve- 
ing and bequeathing to posterity examples of industry, 
probity and tenacity to life's purposes. 

Among the strongest evidences of a designing provi- 
. dence is the happy arrangement whereby occasions give 
birth to men of just such characteristics as the times de- 
mand. When dangers approach even the most peaceful 
community they are met by heroes; and (say what we 

104 



I05 

may about design) in looking into the history of our 
country, all along its lines of development in legislation, 
statesmanship, science, religion, and through its wonder- 
ful discoveries and progress, and then to its very founda- 
tion, laid by its hardy pioneers, and which required pur- 
pose, will and courage of the most enduring kind, no one 
can deny that the men most identified with each part of 
the work were born when their characteristics were most 
needed and could be made most available. 

There was a time when our country rested upon an 
aggregation of small communities having very few rela- 
tions with each other; communities on which individual 
impulses wrought with great influence. Those were 
times which required great abnegation of ease and com- 
fort, and the exercise of frugality, industr}'-, will power 
and steadfast principles. It was in such a time that the 
late J. C. Robinson came upon the scene bearing a name 
which led the list of judicial and executive officers in the 
state in the very beginning of its existence. Born of a 
sturdy, revolutionary stock, he inherited the will and 
spirit of the men of '76, for his father was an officer in 
the army of what is now becoming the ancient revolu- 
tion. 

Although these circumstances gave him prestige and 
a benefit so far as they imparted to him a heart to under- 
take and a will to accomplish yet they had little to do 
with his success. He possessed a higher nobility. The 
nobility of labor, of independent achievement. He 



io6 

possessed tliose qualities which, most need mention and 
development in these days. He was strong of figure 
without grossness, unusually athletic, self reliant, deter- 
mined, and in his sentiments absolutely independent. He 
was fixed and steadfast even to partaking in some degree 
of that obstinacy which belonged to men of his day. His 
purposes must needs have been fixed, for life to him was 
real and earnest. He exercised that exactness, without 
which men's dealings one with another would be lax and 
undesirable, granting to others what justly belonged to 
them and asking in return a like respect for his own. He 
had a clear practical conception of public affairs, and al- 
though he was constantly called into town aftairs where 
his work could be seen and appreciated, and where he 
held official positions, still he was unpretending and slow 
to seek preferment, and seemed to dislike personal and 
political schemes to that end. In referring to his early 
days he wrote "In selecting their officers they looked for 
the best men. They asked. Is the candidate capable ? Is 
he honest ? But now the important question asked is. Is 
he available ?" 

Born and reared among old customs he was j^et alive 
to all progressive ideas. He was foremost in the revolu- 
tion of the old school system, in temperance, and in all 
moves which seemed to him to promise advancement. As 
a member of the General Assembly he was zealous and 
quietly persistent, and from the entrenchment of his prin- 
ciples he was never driven out. He was not a public 



I07 

speaker but "in Committee" and among his associates he 
was efficient and influential because he made legislation 
his whole business for the time. 

His father came from Connecticut in 1800 and he 
was born in Holland, Vt., January 23d, 1804, among the 
first children born in that town. His good Christian 
wife, who shared with him the hardships and joys inci- 
dent to pioneer life died more than 20 years since ; and 
his only children were E. C. Robinson and Sarah A. v/ho 
married Judge D. S. Storrs in whose home the old man 
died amid the kindly offices of her who is next to wife or 
mother in times of sickness and of death. More than half 
a century has gone since he allied himself to the Metho- 
dist Church, taking his family on the backs of horses 
miles through the rain, the mud, and the snow to attend 
services, contributing generously to its support with 
money and gifts, and ever remaining firm in its doctrines. 
He was an ardent Democrat, for wherever he was he was 
pronouncedl}'' there. 

Amid a multitude of lives which were often damaged 
(sometimes wrecked) by storms, his voyage was most 
prosperous. He knew neither want nor the anxious cares 
which wealth brings. His days of willing exercise brought 
him health and comfort, filled his barns with wide and 
high mowed hay, and successive herds of growing kine, 
his granary with golden corn, abundant wheat and all the 
cereals of the land. His own trees gave him cooling shade 
in summer and in winter his glowing fires. By day, he 



io8 

had liope aud life, and peaceful sleep at night. He had 
a good, old old-fashioned home, with neatly kept rooms, 
the frugal housewife's constant care and pride, blazing 
fires, looking into which he dreamed of still brighter 
daj^s. In brief, he had all those comforts which inspire 
the heart and nerve the arm, and for which old men 
sigh when those, good old fashions pass away and are 
lost in the less substantial things which more modern 
times are substituting. He was a princely farmer. "He 
owed not any man" and was content. 

At last there came a change. The fire still burned 
brightly upon the hearth and he remained — alone. His 
wife was dead, his children gone, but he did not murmur 
or complain. He said "It needs must be." He wrote 
"Surely one generation passeth away and another cometh. 
It is the natural law. It is well." His time for reflect- 
ive old age had come. He was finishing an ideal life. 
He knew it. He wanted a retreat from daily contact 
with the time which he had come to hardly envy. He 
told me so. He found one which if he had designed it 
himself would have been but little changed. There, dur- 
ing a few quiet, peacefully pleasant days he waited the 
messenger without dread or fear. He knew he would do 
him no wrong or violence when he should "softly disen- 
gage the vital cord." At last the message came, but only 
brought him quick and peaceful rest. As our friend 
was strong and manly, envy him. As ,he was true to 
wife, children and friends, emulate those his virtues. In 



I09 

his strong convictions and perfect fidelity to society, to 
party, to his cliiircli, and his God, honor his memory. 
But it is not fitting to shed tears of anguish for 
either his timely coming, his fruitful staying, or his pain- 
less going. If tears do come let them be bidden only by 
gratitude for such a life and such a death. In his part- 
ing words he said "I am better now." And so he is, and 
let all mortals leave him so. 



JASON CURRIER. 

ASON Currier was born in Wendall, N. H., in 1810. 
He came witli his father wlio had been a soldier in 
the revolutionary war from Barton, Vt., to Brighton, prob- 
ably in 1827 ; t^^ father with seven children. Jason 
married Susan Carter about 1832 or 1833. They com- 
menced clearing what is known as the Currier place and 
reared a large family. Maria, the eldest, was born in 
1834; she married Oliver Perkie but is now deceased; 
Alonzo J. in 1835, was a member of the 3d Vt. Vols, in the 
late war; Melvina, (Mrs. Chas. Dinsmore) in 1836, now 
resides in Auburn, Me.; John H. in 1837, now lives in 
Fairfield, Me.; Mary in 1838, died in 1840; Isaac S. in 
1842, also a member of the 3d Vt. Vols.; Joseph L. in 
1844, and he too was a member of the 3d Vt. Vols. ; 
Enoch N. in 1845 5 Sarah J. in 1848; Herbert E. in 1852 ; 
Frederick in 1853, since deceased; Merrick C. in 1854, who 
is now an engineer living at Wells River, and Amelia in 
1856, wife of Ora Thomas, now residing in Philadelphia. 

no 



Ill 



Although the father of this family was very demo- 
cratic in his notions, and most loyal to our primitive 
institutions, yet he had a great admiration for the English 
system of manorial homesteads, and the hope was ever 
uppermost in his mind that he might some day be en- 
abled to arrange his residence so that it might be an at- 
tractive centre, around which would gather the many fam- 
ily associations engendered by such numerous offspring. 
But the boys as they grew up began to experience a rest- 
less spirit which was born in the grandfather John, and in- 
tensified by his participation in the revolution ; and so 
three of them went through a brave service in the army of 
the union, and all into some of the most enterprising sec- 
tions of the country. Isaac S. displayed such a business 
capacity and fidelity in conducting his interests in a large 
trust company in Philadelphia that the lesults exceeded 
his own expectations. Joseph L. and Herbert K. are also 
in Philadelphia, doing a most prosperous business and 
are among its best citizens. All of them are so busily 
engaged as to give time only for a fondly passing glance 
at the old homestead with all its childhood memories. But 
the old man, reluctant to leave his home, where the wife 
and mother died some nine years since, remained in it un- 
til last autumn, when the sons inviting him to spend the 
winter in their comfortable homes in Philadelphia, he pre- 
pared his hearth with kindling ready to be lighted on his 
return, and left the faithful old mastiff to friendly care, so 
that he too might go back to his accustomed place in the 
old firelight. * 4^ * 4c- ^ ^ 45. 



112 

But there is no blaze upon tlie hearth; the faithful 
animal wandered into the hushed and subdued assembly 
with decorous yet startling instincts before anyone dis- 
covered his presence ; and no one now knows how much 
he knew of what had happened. Witnessing his demon- 
strations all knew that he must have known at least that 
the occasion was sadly strange. And there let us leave 
the mystery of many things. 

Seldom does there come an occasion bringing with 
it such compensations and consolations to a family for 
the loss of one of its members. A long life had been 
granted to him. He had accomplished his own hopes 
and ambitions and was living in those of his children. 
They had grown to manhood and womanhood, and with 
industry, honor and fidelity to life's grand purposes they 
had become woven into good social relations. He had 
given to the world boys brave in the country's defence 
and in the enterprises of peace, and daughters fit to re- 
peat the primitive virtues started in the home of the good 
wife and mother, waiting for him in a path that is 

"Lost to human eye among .the bovvers 
And living fountains of a brighter land." 

When the messenger came he was surrounded with all 
the care that brave and competent men and kind and af- 
fectionate women can bestow. It was a pleasant, peace- 
ful time to die. But was his situation and his life work 
so desirable as to leave no opposite considerations ? 
When some one of us is indicated in whose heart there is 
not a bitter consciousness of ten times more and greater 



113 

faults tlian we ourselves ever knew in him I will send my 
charity to starve in a hovel and answer that. He was 
somewhat rigid in his ideas. He was characteristic of the 
primitive time in which he lived, and which is called in a 
more fawning and compromising period, arbitrar3^ He was 
the very last of the founders of this town who are separa- 
ted from its more recent inhabitants by a distinct line. 
He lived in a rough time, the rustic memories of which 
suggest substantial realities, when life was not regarded 
a game unrestrained by principles of right, when perjury 
was a crime, and the forfeiture of business words was 
dishonorable ; and he was true to the substantial features 
of those times, loyal to his country, true to his friends 
and faithful to his engagements, and withal one of the 
most hospitable men of the times. He did not go selfishly 
through the world forgetting the old injunction. 

As he lay quietly surrounded by the living results 
of his life, how could the good parson forbear to portray 
in kind and appropriate words the certainty of death and 
the measureless significance of living, or the hopeful 
thoughts of those who came along in life with the now 
silent man, and who will join him soon in the general 
throng, moving on to the accomplishment of the univer- 
sal purposes for which mankind is destined ! What 
words of solemn mockery would he have uttered if he had 
said that the hopes and joys and destiny of all these be- 
ings which this man's life had brought along ended right 
here ; that earthly life is only real, and all else is empty. 



114 

hollow nothingness ! We pause before a mystery ; but 
gladly turn from sucb thoughts to where hope kindly 
lights us toward the grave. 

Now that we have paid pur final tokens of respect 
to the memory of the last of the pioneers of this town, let 
us be careful how we make deprecatory allusions to those 
times in which they lived, lest we may lose sight of the 
growing indifference to private honor, selfish intrigues in 
public affairs, heartless designing, family paucity, and 
the general decadence of those good old New England 
customs and institutions. 



EBER. C. ROBINSON. 

♦||^ EVER tave the people of this vicinity been so sud- 
■■ *" denly and universally shocked as they were at the 
sudden death of our townsman, E. C. Robinson. His 
relations, business and social, to every portion of our com- 
munity were so numerous and varied that the startling 
news agitated every heart as it suddenly passed from one 
to another. About half-past ten in the morning he was 
walking about the streets of our village, here and there 
directing about his various interests, when feeling a lit- 
tle indisposed he walked a short distance to his residence, 
and in about ten minutes from the time he started he was 
dead in his house. He was conscious when the doctor, 
who was hastily summoned, arrived, and with character- 
istic coolness and judgment remarked that he should not 
survive the attack. The gloom cast upon the community 
is deepened by the fact that nearly all of his numerous 
relatives, at the time of his death, were in different parts 

115 



ii6 

of tlie country pursuing their avocations and journej-s 
with no apprehension of this or any other like affliction. 
So intimate were his relations in one way and another 
with the whole town that it feels the affliction as if it was 
one family and had lost one of its principal members. Of 
course in saying this we are not unmindful of the fact 
that there is a little tender group in the midst of all who 
feel this sudden bereavement deeper than it is possible for 
others to know or experience ; but business stopped, and 
business men stood mute, as though the operations of 
nature had been suspended. ,The whole workings of the 
business relations of our little village were paralyzed and 
disarranged, and all hearts were turned in s^^mpathy, and 
in all the consolation which human impulses can afford 
toward the family so suddenly and peculiarly afflicted. 

As president of the bank, one of the principal mana- 
gers of two extensive lumber enterprises, an active mem- 
ber of a firm doing an extensive business here and in the 
west, deputy collector in charge of the port of Island 
Pond, superintendent, with others, of extensive public 
works, and alone of numerous lesser enterprises, he gave 
his utmost energies up to and including the day of his 
death, to the accomplishment of results from which he 
took nothing for himself, but all of which he left for 
others to take, publicly and individually. However we 
may look upon his life, he gave to the world many years 
of sober industry, care, competency and extraordinary la- 
bor, for which it has given him nothing in return except 



117 

his means of subsistence wliile in its service. It would 
indeed be unkind, uncbaritable and ungrateful for the 
world to regard witb indifference the work and productive 
life of any suck industrious and enterprising man. To 
wkat purpose faitkful, toiling lives are given we may 
not know. Reason only tells us tkat energetic life 
work is noble, and is a contribution to some grand de- 
sign ; and it further tells us that an idle, indifferent ex- 
istence here on earth is contemptible. Mr. Robinson 
was born of that honest, hardy class of men who as pioneers 
in north-eastern Vermont, shaped and fashioned its moral 
forms and ideas. His grandfather came from Connecti- 
cut to Holland in 1800, where his father, J. C. Robinson, 
was born in 1804. In this town Bber C. was born on the 
nth day of June 1832. He married Eliza Bartlett April 
4, 1855. She was a daughter of Jarvis Bartlett, one of 
the most prominent and exemplary men of his times. To 
them three children were born, Lilla, now Mrs. A. W. 
Bosworth, Jr.,* Mamie, deceased, and Alice G. now Mrs. 
Story. Mrs. Robinson died August 15, 1875. On the 
5th day of September 1877 he married Clara M. Stewart, 
daughter of the late Hon. Emera Stewart of Derby, who 
with her daughter. Belle S.,* survive. He moved from 
Holland to Island Pond, in 1866, and died there June 
26, 1894, at the age of 62 years. 

Standing in the old Derby cemetery, by which are 
silently passing amidst so many interesting years, all its 

* Since deceased. 



ii8 

quiet but pungent memories, mellowing, ripening, grow- 
ing ricli and falling away in the passing years witli eacli 
individual wlio bears tliem into tbe great unknown ; mem- 
ories growing in intensity and interest in tlie hearts of the 
living, but plucked away at short intervals by death until 
soon no living memory of its beginning will remain ; 
standing there men and memorials take imaginative form 
and congregate about each guest as as he takes his silent 
chamber. It is true our friend was not to this "manor 
born", but he so corresponded to its characteristics that 
he seemed to have been, for so interlaced are the relations 
of that locality with the surrounding country, so con- 
nected was he by business associations and by consan- 
guinity to it, and so firmly were those rigid puritanical 
sentiments that the grandfathers of the town entertained 
impressed upon his mind by youthful education, that he 
carried those early convictions through life. They were 
rendered less active of course, but little modified b}^ an 
intense and absorbing business life. He shared equally 
in an appreciation of the intensity and earnestness of 
life with even men of such virility as was characteristic 
of that locality. Standing here and calculating the re- 
sults of men's lives and the loss experienced by the liv- 
ing when they die we find a similitude in some respects 
and in a degree to this subject. 

We call to mind one of the grandest men that ever 
lived in New England and who now lies sleeping here. 
The sage, the patriot, father of the town. He assumed 



119 

legislative, judicial and executive functions. He was stern, 
rigid and exacting, so sharply so tliat liis life would cut 
away the softer lines wliere a man's life and relations 
touch his fellows as they are laid out by modern times. 
There was little in his life to please, to lightly touch or 
soften the world. No sentimentalism gave effect to his 
going; but his going severed so many ties, broke up so 
many relations and took away so much of mental sub- 
stance that all felt the void. A firm, practical judgment 
was gone, and in its absence man felt lost, lonesome and 
less secure and confident. This was all because the old 
man was in touch with the interests, and hopes and fears 
of so many others. Just so it was, and is, in respect to 
Mr. Robinson's business relations. His work was char- 
acterized by intense interest, application and vigorous ex- 
ecution, which coming in contact with less energetic 
natures was sometimes called harsh. Discipline and en- 
terprise when jarring sloth and confusion never receive a 
kindly or welcome greeting. Besides, great energy, so 
productive of material prosperity to a community, begets 
occasional rashness which must needs be endured because 
such forces move the designs of a community and con- 
tinually supply force and material for its plans and pur- 
poses. These are the substances of men's lives and the 
tender sentiments are their ornaments. 

We have no occasion to dwell on the former in our 
reflections on the life of our friend only to complete the 
character, for it was full of the latter. In his official or 



I20 

business relations to men under his control or direction 
there was no personal friction or antagonisms, no un- 
kindness, but only that necessary and just discipline so 
essential to those enterprises to which it was applied. 
His social relations were genial, and his friendship frank, 
conciliatory and pleasant. He was happy in the details 
of his home life which was sacredly excluded from the 
world, and all his ways were pleasant there, where no 
want or denial ever came. He was fortunate in those 
tender and peculiar relations which, when a man is blessed 
with them, always form the inner circle of his life, and 
rise in gentle defiance to the colder world without and 
inspire and warm his whole being with tender but efficient 
courage ; and he never did violence to them. 

Man's nature is twofold. Each side has its counter- 
part, and the stronger and the more pronounced each is, 
and the greater the contrast between them, the more im- 
pressive will the man be, and the more will his absence 
be felt. And so when grief broke forth from hearts be- 
yond restraint, and when strong men filled with emotion 
struggled for the mastery over unseemly demonstration, 
we knew that death had found a place in many hearts 
never found there before. And when the morrow came 
men stopped as if waiting for his coming, forgetful of his 
death. But he came not with the morning. It brought 
along instead the empty chair, the noiseless house in 
which reason had just begun its kind offices, the vacant 
office, the open book with unfinished page, and the un- 



121 

finislied work, but no plans or designs for the day. Tiien 
all wlio were connected witli tlie life tliat was, knew and 
saw and felt tlie loss, and paused and stood wkere tkey 
should begin the work again. But the lesson of his life 
has taught all to cheerfully take up their burdens, 
assume their new relations, begin again the noise of life, 
and go bravely on in the hope 

" That good shall fall 
At last — far off — at last, to all." 



|KATH is constantly exhibiting what seems to hu- 
man minds to be peculiarities. During some periods 
its visits occur at regular intervals and are made to per- 
sons of all ages and conditions alike. Again, in quick 
succession it takes individuals of some particular age or 
class. This is possibly one thing which makes its calls 
seem unexpected. Of the latter kind its visits to our com- 
munity were at the time of Mr. Joy's death ; and they 
were made with dispatch, and to our substantial business 
men. On June 21 he was suddenly stricken down, and 
survived in a semi-conscious condition, dying about 2 P. 
M., the next day at his home in Island Pond. He was 73 
years old at the time of his death. He was born in Put- 
ney, Vt., and came to Brighton in 1845. Soon after he 
came here he went into the lumber business (1850) with 
John Cargill under the firm name of Cargill & Joy. 
About that time he married Almina J. Cargill, who died 

122 



123 

March 1865. Their children were Orpha O. born Sep- 
tember 2, 1853, died March 15, 1865; Annie A. born 
June 16, 1856, now the wife of Charles Farr, * and Laura 
L. born June 4, 1859, who married A. P. Cobb, March 
1879, and died April i, 1894. In March 1866 he married 
Sylvina Marsh. Their children were Ida I. born Tune 3, 
1867, now the wife of Rev. Francis T. Clark; Ollie O. 
born February 28, 1870, now the wife of K. K. Blake, and 
Alva Arba born October 29, 1873, and died in 1889. Of 
relatives, besides the wife and living children, he has only 
a brother who lives in Sheffield. 

Mr. Joy's life and character were somewhat peculiar. 
His beginning here indicated an enterprising and ex- 
tensive business. The old Cargill & Joy mill (over the 
dam of which what is called the iron bridge was built and 
out of the building of which came a sharp litigation) was 
in those days a very considerable establishment. It was 
looked upon with great expectations ; but other like en- 
terprises sprang up, which left it in the race and it proved 
a failure. Mr. Joy, with characteristic integrity, faced 
his obligations and saved from the wreck the stubborn 
and unyielding farm on which he spent his life, every 
year of which bound him closer to it. His marital rela- 
tions were such that his life partners were content and 
happy to remain there so long as he desired. He could 
have acquired a farm of much greater value with com- 
paratively little work, yet he persisted in bestowing upon 
this rocky soil an almost incredible amount of labor. He 

* Deceased. 



124 

was as firm in liis purpose to remain tliere as were his 
farm and hills not to yield him rich returns for his labors, 
and so he toiled on, absolutely honest, unassuming, con- 
scientious and persistent. He was content to let the 
world alone, and yet he had many strong social qualities. 
His determination to subdue his farm and discover a rich 
mine in a mountain on it became the all-absorbing pur- 
poses of his life, and attracted much public attention. 
Flattering indications of rich minerals in it attracted the 
attention of our best geologists, and so promising were 
they that they would have given any reasonable man 
hope of success. He never found the treasure, yet his 
purpose cannot be criticised, because success or failure is 
not the true criterion by which to determine a man's 
judgment in his pursuits. If he had succeeded, lauda- 
tion of his enterprise and wonderful persistency would 
have been unlimited. Out of failures as well as successes 
have come the richest discoveries that ever benefited the 
world. Notwithstanding his reticence, he had some traits 
of character which held most close and genial compan- 
ionship with sentiments which surrounded him and 
which kept him almost continuously in local offices and 
positions of responsibility. He was thorough in business, 
deliberate and cool in judgment, absolutely fearless and 
without favor in action. In politics he stood by his 
democratic principles as firmly and as ,steadfastly as he 
did by his other life pursuits ; but they never led him into 
personal bigotry or intolerance towards his fellows, nor 



125 

interfered with his social relations. He was elected to 
represent the town in the legislature when strong charac- 
teristics were required to offset those of the opposing can- 
didate and to ensure success to his party. He was hold- 
ing the office of postmaster at Island Pond at the time of 
his death. 

The currents of ostentatious pride will never bear 
human sentiments completely away from an admiration 
of the stern, hardy characteristics engendered by rustic 
and frontier life. An undemonstrative man who presents 
a rugged and even forbidding exterior awakens greater 
pleasure and admiration in the observer when the latter 
gets near enough to observe the nice warm sentiments 
beneath, made brighter and warmer as they shine 
through the openings of the first presentments. The 
man who bears inspection is to be envied when compared 
with him who first strikes the view favorably and then 
degenerates on closer observation. In looking for fast 
colors and strong characteristics in the inhabitants of 
this town we turn involuntarily to its fathers and found- 
ers, and find none faster and stronger than some in his 
character, and in his death we meet with a new loss to 
the substance of this locality. 



MARIE PRIOR VALLEE. 

^^HERE is something about childliood that stirs the 
^» finest and liveliest sentiments of the human heart, 
and awakens the tenderest emotions. The smile of a child 
will lighten the gloomiest ideas and soften the ruggedest 
features of strong business men. The picture of boys 
and girls playing in a street warms the most indifferent 
passenger to brighter and pleasanter conditions, and to 
willing confession of sensations, which some foolishly call 
weakness. Children are playful lights, shining on the 
dark, rough and vicious sentiments of the world, and re- 
vealing the benevolence and humanity which soften and 
cheer the lives of men and women. Their lives are the 
flowers of the world's sentiments, and display an inno- 
cence in pleasant contrast with maturer lives. And when 
one of these little lights goes out, even its going awakes 
a pleasant sadness. There is no one so rude as to say 
"why was she sent here at all, to suffer and to die ? " for 

126 



127 

her little errand is apparent even now, and will be more 
fully disclosed wlien tlie multitude of human influences 
and their purposes shall be fully displayed. Her coming 
would be welcomed if for no other purpose than to im- 
press upon us the sentiment 

"This lovely flower so youiig and fair 

Called hence by early doom ; 
Just sent to show how fair a flower 

In paradise might bloom." 

There is a kind of pleasant sadness. It is a pleasure to 
know that the transient little being has done no injury 
in the world ; has been the cause of no enmity, jealousy 
or wrong, and that she is beyond the reach of all harm or 
reproach. As keen and sharp as are the pangs which 
thrill the hearts of those who felt the presence of the child, 
there is no shade or feature of their sorrow that does not 
find its consolation and compensation. 



GEORGE FITZGERALD. 

^^HIS locality Has met witli a great loss in the death 
^^ of Mr. George Fitzgerald. He was born in Fairfield, 
Me., August I, 1811, and was married at the same place to 
Miss Betsey Nye Rolfe in 1835, who with a son, George 
H. Fitzgerald, and daughters Emma (Mrs. John H. 
Gerrish) and Evelyn* (Mrs. William B. Causebrook) 
survive him. 

In early life he taught school, was a surveyor, and 
finally engaged in the lumber business. During all his 
life in Fairfield, Canaan and Island Pond he held various 
town offices. He was of that peculiar, candid class of 
men whose opinion and advice were much sought, and 
whose conciliatory offices were most highly appreciated. 
After living in unusually harmonious marital relations, 
his golden wedding was celebrated May 21st, 1885, four 
generations of the family being present. His is the first 
death which has occurred in the family. 

* Deceased. 

128 



129 

He was a member of tlie masonic fraternity, and Had 
that calm, consistent, yet deep veneration for its princi- 
ples so characteristic of all his relations in life. That 
considerate kindness with which he viewed and treated 
the tenderest family associations went with him in his 
more formal relations to the outer circle and into his 
sterner duties to the public. He was undemonstrative, 
but absolutely fixed in his notions of personal conduct 
and public polic3^ Unobtrusive, he was never influenced 
in his action in respect to his treatment of any subject 
or situation. His kind approval of the right, and just 
condemnation of a wrong, were equally marked, and were 
expressed more by his actions, mien and living than in 
words. He had that peculiarly indescribable influence 
which warmed and cheered his surroundings without 
noise or apparent contact; an influence, the subtle 
workings of which no one can explain ; in the vain at- 
tempt to do so, some call it that character or presence 
which always begets esteem, respect and confidence. His 
condemnation of a wrong course of action was sternly yet 
kindly severe, for he had no personal envy or malice that 
would exceed that of a child. So the thought is in every 
soul that a kind, good old man has gone. 

When death comes to one on the angry sea amid the 
cries, fears and agonies of its victims, when it hovers 
above them, enclosed in an immense cavern with mon- 
strous swelling waves below, and blackness above, when 
it comes to one in the freshness of life by means of sud- 



I30 

den and unexpected violence, or througli cold, or by 
hunger, want or desertion, it is terrible. But wlien it 
comes, as if gentle and considerate, to an aged man, wbo 
lias gone tbrougb. a long life of probity and industry, 
successfully accomplishing all tbe plans conceived by 
bim in early life, and wbo bas enjoyed a calm, reflective 
old age, and is found sitting in a glorious country amid 
tbe comforts of bome, tbe deep respect and good warm 
friendsbip of all around bim, wben it comes to sucb an 
one, wbo sits in patriarchal grandeur, tbe first of four 
links in tbe endless cbain tbat binds generation to gener- 
ation in tbe everlasting marcb of life, it liardly seems 
like deatb. 

How bappy is tbe lot of bim wbose life in our too 
nomadic land and age culminates in sucb pleasant sur- 
roundings ! Four generations, tbougb linked together by 
closest, tenderest ties, are not rudely disturbed by gently 
dissolving the foremost link and uniting it to the chain 
tbat reaches to the bank of the river on the other side. 
Such lives as those do not seem to go out, but just to go 
on in their preappointed ways in tbe fulfillment of all 
human destinies, calmly consistent with the great plan 
which has in it the "common fatherhood of God, and the 
universal brotherhood of man." In entertaining these 
sentiments, friends are not unmindful of the sad features 
of this sorrowful event ; of the venerable old man going 
out from the midst of those clustering homes so rare in 
these times of family separations and v/anderings, and of 



131 

tlie joys of well placed love cultivated many years, and 
ripening in briglit autumnal days, then vanishing like a 
dream, leaving her, the most dependent one, to travel in 
the stubble of the harvest field — alone ! All know that as 
the brightest days of autumn cannot furnish compensa- 
tion for the loss of a season's labor, so the boundless kind- 
ness which others will bestow on her cannot fully com- 
pensate for such a loss. 

But as the aged man turned his last lingering look 
upon the generations moving in grand procession, and 
saw his own marching in such unexpected prosperity 
and comfort, he died content, the envied father of so long 
a line. All the world is covetous of such coming and go- 
ing. Then what cause for mourning ! Nor can she, the 
beloved mother of living generations, complain, because 
after such a peaceful, happy life she is asked to wait amid 
those scenes a little, till the appointed time when the two 
shall sleep side by side. 



THOMAS A. BR.OWN. 

-^f^HE startling and unexpected circumstances resulting 
^^ in tlie death of Thomas A. Brown awakened the 
deepest sympathies of the people all along the line of the 
railroad, increased by the fact that great dependence was 
placed upon the industry, management and care bestowed 
by the deceased. His father had recently suffered the 
loss of a son, and is in failing health. A young and in- 
teresting family was entirely dependent upon the de- 
ceased, and his care and advice extended quite a circle 
beyond. 

While it is the duty of every man, woman and child 
in the universe to be constantly making provision for 
whatever loss or misfortune may befall them, there are 
events too sharp and sudden to be forefended against. 
But at the same time it is the duty of each one to seek 
earnestly for considerations which will fortify him in 
times of loss and trouble. As impulses are allowed to get 

132 



133 

tlie mastery, or are controlled, so is afEiction lessened 
or increased. Take away from a man all his imaginary 
troubles and his real ones are very easily encountered. 
But in a case like this, when the clouds seem to settle 
down on every feature and circumstance in it, when a 
young, vigorous and industrious man, a consistent and 
considerate son of aged parents who are growing feeble 
with long, frugal, hard working lives, when the devoted 
and affectionate husband and father all the energies of 
whose being are entirely absorbed in making his de- 
pendents comfortable and happy, is suddenly cut down 
just at a time when sickness, previous sorrows and most 
tender and delicate conditions render his immediate sur- 
vivors without apparent consoling resources, the first im- 
pulse is an arraignment of the wisdom and goodness of 
Providence. Only this one in whom so many relations, 
dependencies and affections are centered is seen, except 
as his taking off is contrasted with that of some one 
which might have been, one on whom no responsibilities 
rest, in whom no other life is centered, and to whom life 
itself may be a burden. But if the afflicted stop right 
here they would sink in despair. Godlike courage 
most noble in difficulties and in action would lose its 
noblest qualities. Troubled souls would wrong them- 
selves, dishonor the memory of the dead, discourage the 
living, lower the standard of manhood and womanhood, 
and stultify fortitude growing in what is now helpless 
infancy. They must remember that death has not 



134 

sought out these peculiar and tender conditions as a place 
on wHicli to strike. Death spares no conditions ; its hand 
is never stayed by wealth, power, or influence. It works 
by inexorable and undeviating laws, created for wise pur- 
poses in the beings and destinies of man which on ac- 
count of their very nature are unseen by mortals. 

In the deep mystery of our lives if we should ques- 
tion the justice or equality of such a variety of destinies 
as are accomplished in the lives and death of men we 
would get no answer. The animal and vegetable king- 
dom, and all the material things that exist are developed 
by an ingenious and subtle Designer, built up by slow 
accretion, or by a combination of materials, and then de- 
stroyed, now by gradual decay, and again by violence, 
like that induced by fire, flood or accident. From this 
rule human beings are not exempt, for there can be no 
exemptions from a rule created for the accomplishment 
of a general purpose. Therefore this is the time for rea- 
son to assert itself. Heaven grant that in no single in- 
stance it may be dethroned. Everything has its compen- 
sations in the great mass of events which make up human 
existence. 

Those of us who are growing old will soon pass into 
the assimilation of unknown conditions in which no sor- 
row of ours will have any individual materiality. The 
working brethren of our late young friend are already re- 
turning from the last token of respect to an esteemed co- 
worker, to leave, as in flying trains, the past behind them. 



135 

Good dame nature quickly heals the wounds of sorrow 
inflicted on young hearts, and the grief of the one on 
whom the blow falls most heavily will be kindly soothed 
by time and softened into deep and sad, yet tender, calm 
and consistent memories of him at whose death she would 
have shed no tears if they had not been called forth by 
the kind, good and true acts which he did because they 
were for her. 



GEORGE E. STORRS. 

®N the 28tli day of November, George E. Storrs, second 
son of Hon. D. S. Storrs and Sarah A. (Robinson) 
Storrs, died of pneumonia at Bethel, Vt., after a very- 
brief illness. He had just completed his academic course 
at Norwich University, having passed an examination 
which showed he was most thoroughly equipped for edu- 
cational work, and had taken charge of Bethel Academy, 
and organized it for work with such masterly skill and 
industry as to excite the highest expectation of his 
friends. Senator Arnold, one of the school directors, 
writes : — "Even in the short time he had lived here 
he had gained the love of all with whom he came in 
contact. It will be a long day before we can find any- 
one that will take his place." The remains arrived here 
on the evening of the 29th in charge of C. S. Carleton 
and P. R. Hoefler, members of the Theta Kai Society, 
and F. C. Davis and William G. Huntley of the Alpha 

136 



137 

Sigma Pi of the Norwich University, of which societies 
George was a member, and on Saturday funeral services 
were conducted by Rev. G. O. Howe of the M. E. Church. 
The services were attended by an immense number of 
sympathizing friends, and so deep and universal was the 
grief that many were scarcely able to contend against 
their feelings and gain sufficient mastery of themselves 
to utter the memorial words belonging to the service. 
Even the songs and prayers of the living trembled and 
almost died upon the lips of many. But grief seemed 
unavailing. Profuse floral tributes could not lighten the 
crushing blow, for the bright, hopeful, ambitious boy was 
gone. It would be sad enough if only his young hopes 
and ambitions had been crushed in their beginnings, or 
even if an indifferent life had gone out, or if a less ardent 
and lively existence had ended. There are times and 
periods when men and women having accomplished their 
own hopes, purposes and ambitions in life, whether hum- 
ble or otherwise, begin to live again in those of their chil- 
dren ; and so when the children die it seems as though 
they themselves had died. They seek in vain for palli- 
ating circumstances. They charge themselves, even 
when the fact does not exist, with something they incor- 
rectly imagine that they have left undone which might 
have prolonged a life, the early ending of which it seems 
to them in the order of nature ought not to have occurred. 
All this is usually and almost always simply imaginative. 
Yet it heightens grief as much as though the fact was so. 



138 

Almost always tHere are controlling circumstances and 
conditions. In tliis there seems to be little in avoidance 
of the sorrow occasioned by the sad event. It calls di- 
rectly on the afflicted for courage ; tliat courage de- 
manded by duty to themselves and to the living ; that 
courage by which we sustain one another ; that courage 
which is the opposite in its results of those produced 
by despondency which lets all down. There should be 
no letting go of life's duties even if all its hopes are gone. 
The dignity and honor of manhood and womanhood should 
be and must be maintained. It is a duty that all men 
and women owe to themselves and their Creator. Life at 
best is brief and it belongs to all, to each one's duty and 
destiny, to make the most we can of it. Besides, there is 
and can be no death without its consolations and compen- 
sations. Are we not thankful that our young friend was 
bright, warm hearted and full of social joys ! Are we not 
grateful that he has contributed so much to those young 
and pleasant sentiments which make life so cheerful ! 
Are we not glad that to the communities which his 
young life has touched there has been given even briefly 
this young scholastic example ! If he had never lived we 
would never have mourned his loss. Then can we wish 
he had never been ! Then let us at least be thankful 
that he was. He left no crimes to stain himself or his ; 
nor has any dishonor blurred his name. We do not mourn 
for him. He has had the brightest days of life. The 
perplexities and cares of middle life, the pains and deep 



139 

regrets, tlie lonesome bitterness of age, all these lie has 
escaped. To aching hearts, rest and peace will soon be 
given. Then while we live let fortitude and courage 
bring reconciliation and consolation to the living. 

"On his young promise Beauty smiled, 
Drew his free homage unbeguiled, 
And prosperous Age held out his hand, 
And richly his large future planned, 
And troops of friends enjoyed the tide, — 
All, all was given, — but life denied." 



Reflections on the Death of a Young Friend 
and Protegee.* 

<^ UST when we begin to think we liave accurate 
\J conceptions of life, tlie purposes of our being, and 
the conditions in which we are, fortune turns the kaleido- 
scope, and out of our own conditions, out of ourselves, 
comes a combination of sentiments and impulses entirely 
new and which seem to change for the time our whole 
being. This is perhaps the reason why single circum- 
stances are so often the pivotal points on which the whole 
of so many lives are turned. If we knew more of the sub- 
tle influences which direct individual courses we would 
indulge in less criticism concerning our conditions and 
surroundings. To say unqualifiedly that force rules the 
world is a saying unworthy the great man who said it. 
It is an impeachment of the works and mission of the 
sublimest being the world ever saw, and makes even the 
gentle influences of Christianity secondary to gross force. 
Force simply holds the world in condition so that the 

* Ilattie Dale Butters. 

140 



141 

milder influences may come in contact with it. Some- 
times impulse moves us much more than reason, and is 
equally important in the courses we take and the dis- 
tance we make. Of course the building requires firm 
foundations and strong cohesive force, but its convenience, 
elegance and even the beauty of its architecture are just 
as essential to its purposes and to the comfort and happi- 
ness of its occupants as is the strength. As society grows 
more and more cultivated, force, strength and the grosser 
elements are less and less invoked. 

It is no longing for a purely sentimental or idle ex- 
istence, nor devotion to any person born to such condi- 
tions, that occasions these reflections ; but it is the loss 
to friends and society of a beautiful, consistent, consider- 
ate and Christian girl and woman, who was adorned with 
the choicest, simplest and yet most queenly virtues with 
which nature crowns her finest types of womanhood. To 
be beautiful and to be unconscious of it, to be artless 
without art, to be kind without affectation, to be ever doing 
kindly offices of good to all around her without designing 
any returns, and to have a faith free from worldly consid- 
erations are the crown jewels which nature bestowed on 
one I knew — one that we found and lost. I saw and 
watched her as a tender child ; for in rude winds she was 
as an exotic in a northern clime. As day by day, or, 
rather year by year, in her tender mind the world de- 
veloped, in her confiding fancy men and women seemed 
to move about designing no ill, but softly touching each 



142 

other. In these gentle conditions a rough and sturdy 
kinsman often found her; and so by widest contrast, as 
nature sometimes curiously works, she came to be very 
much to him. The gentle influence of her life and death 
on him and others has been more than the force and men- 
tal strength of man}'- giant men. 

I am sitting now where forty years ago many of us 
were amid early loves ; none of which seem to me to have 
been as beautiful, as amiable, as patient or as good as she 
has been. She has come and gone since then. We say 
"poor girl !" Alas ! we know not what we say„ The 
noisy honors that strong men and intellectual women 
win by rudely pushing and keenly cutting each other, or 
the harsh rattle of their gains, is coarse and gross when 
compared with the elegance, the beauty and perfect 
amenities of her womanly and Christian characteristics. 

Grief has its compensations. Let us look on the 
blessings which its cause has brought us ! Take any view 
of life we may, even if we now see all there is to be of our 
existence, then let us be thankful for the coming and go- 
ing of such a being. If we do not now see the utmost 
boundaries of our existence then let our gratitude be as 
boundless as our vision shall be. We did weep. We will 
no more ; but only look to the blessings she has brought 
us, to the purpose of this grief ; and then the calm resigna- 
tion which follows after. We banish sorrow and draw 
the folds of comfort close around our hearts. 

There is no sickness of the body or the soul without 



143 

its antidote. A peaceful death, was hers. She made life, 
and even death beautiful. She did not seem to die. To 
me her going was not like death. She said "I will be 
better when you come again." And so she was. Once 
before she went away and then returned from her Pacific 
home, stopped, then went again, noiseless, as she came. 
She will not again return. Her last journey was too 
long. Coming from the west they said she had reached 
her home. She had not then. She has now. It is a 
home in one of many mansions. Look not in the casket. 
She is not there. To us mortals she is only a pleasant 
memory on which she patiently worked all her days to 
carve these words : ^'Life is sweet or bitter fis we make 
it.'' 



R. C. BENTON. 

♦tfTN the decease of Col. Benton another of a strong and 
'■ characteristic class or family of men who have deeply- 
impressed Essex County with their energetic lives has 
gone. Col. Benton was distinguished in the field of law, 
letters and of arms. He was a strong and vigorous man. 
Much strength is seldom begotten without huge under- 
lying causes or elements out of which vigorous manhood 
is developed. But if a man possesses even the grosser 
elements of human nature and controls and moves them 
by fine discriminating, humane and just instincts he is a 
blessing to mankind. 

As a soldier Col. Benton was brave and efficient. He 
exercised that boldness and all those stern characteris- 
tics which manifested those qualities that stood like a 
wall of fire around the great heart of the republic in its 
terrible emergency. If human attributes are created for 
a purpose most heroically did he accomplish with those 
bestowed on him one purpose of his existence. 

144 



145 

But when he turned from warlike purposes and 
entered the domain of law there was nothing about him 
suggestive of physical inHuence or force save a large fig- 
ure. Mentally he was strong, broad and forceful ; but he 
possessed also the finest, clearest and most exact mental 
qualities. His mind ran naturally and easily along the 
most delicate educational lines. Soon after he came from 
the army he began to attract the attention of the supreme 
court of this state through the genius and originality of 
his arguments. He talked law more as though it had 
been told him and he had grown up in its traditions full 
of life and enthusiasm than as though he had read it 
mechanically in the books. Not only were his concep- 
tions of the law accurate but his expression of it was ex- 
act and comprehensive. He was not simply educated 
along certain legal lines, but he had a comprehension of 
the law as a whole. He had its general essence and the- 
ories. His acquaintances may in some respects distin- 
guish him from other legal minds in Vermont, perhaps 
more especially in the science and art of special pleading. 
He was in the very nature and practice of it. He con- 
ceived quickly the most advantageous issue to be made 
in his case and directed his pleadings to it, often almost 
entirely independent of the books. For a time I saw 
much of him, and I never observed him misconceiving 
his issue or misstating himself along the line of his 
pleadings. On one occasion he was defending a man 
whom he thought was deeply wronged. Some lawyer 



146 

expressed the opinion tliat the defence could not possibly 
succeed. The Col. quietly remarked to his associate that 
they would succeed at that trial at least, unless the other 
side was pretty keenly alive to the situation. The de- 
fence was unprepared at that time for trial. The court 
refused to continue the case. The trial proceeded and 
when it was too late to recognize for that term Judge 
Peck began to enquire what the nature of the issue was. 
Col. Benton stated it in a general way. "But" said the 
Judge "what of it ! If this issue is found either way what 
will it amount to?" This pricked the bubble. And so a 
case that was not ready for hearing, and in which a client 
was being unjustly crowded to trial, was disposed of for 
that term on an issue that was absolutely immaterial but 
so ingeniously stated as to almost completely conceal its 
immateriality. But his ability as a lawyer was not con- 
fined to hability of motion in certain directions. He 
could comprehend, harmonize, analyze and apply law, 
fact, history, conditions and the purposes of the law with 
great readiness and skill even when they were all involved 
in one case and were in a mass of intricacies. To illus- 
triate this I have only to refer to his masterly review of 
the laud grant controversies between the Green Moun- 
tain Boys and New York which has been recently circu- 
lated in pamphlet form and in which is reproduced not 
only the incidents, the heroic features of the occasion and 
their detailed history, but also the legal essence of the 
whole controversy. Col. Benton's Vermont work will al- 



147 

ways stand higli in tlie respect and esteem of his surviv- 
ing brethren here. He was too "blunt" and "outspoken" 
to have ever been the recipient of ease or favoritism. 

There is something in his life and surroundings 
which challenges our admiration and excites our deepest 
sympathies. He had scarcely struggled with great ef- 
forts through the University of Vermont and begun his 
professional career when the war shattered his health and 
scattered his small beginnings. He had just got warmly 
into the confidence and esteem of his brethren, and the 
courts, and was expanding in the legal atmosphere of 
his native state when moved by an enterprising and ad- 
venturous spirit — as well as by unpleasant local political 
controversies which had sprung up about him — he moved 
to Minneapolis. There he immediately entered into a 
prosperous career which more than filled his expectations. 
There was no clientage that he could not command, no 
position beyond his reach, and no respect which was de- 
nied him. In that far off North Star State, with his for- 
tune and his fame, he had enclosed a happy home, nor 
heart, nor hope, nor wish could ask for more than he had 
achieved and possessed. He was connected with his new 
and adopted conditions by all the ties that could 
bind a man of various capacity, with strong, deep and 
rugged affections woven into a will and purpose which 
give tenacity and substance to the tenderest loves ever 
born in human hearts. 

And then the most golden fruitage of his life (with 



148 - 

hers who was a part of all — even of his very self) was the 
growing infancy and youth which gladdened their home 
and hearts. Just here the shadows fell. The children 
died one by one till all were gone. Then heart and hope 
began to fail. But with characteristic courage conceal- 
ment was invoked ; that concealment which always brings 
added anguish. It may look to some as though while no 
live associations failed him, or were false to him, the 
strength of such a man would not falter ; but each one is 
dependent on his own conditions. Strong and even rude 
men are often stricken most by tenderest sorrow, and if 
repeated it grows to be intolerable. The finest silver cords 
are loosed, whether they be connected with the heart of the 
strong man or the tender wife, when young and older life 
are separated. It is not alone the weak and tender who 
suffer from sorrow. By it the strong are racked, the 
weak depleted, and each equally tormented. Our friend 
bore the semblance of his strength nearly to the end of 
his life. To the outer world he seemed strong, stern 
and almost forbidding ; but those who were within the 
radius of his inner life were in touch with sentiments and 
sensibilities that were as fine as the externals of his pres- 
ence seemed to be rough or rugged. 



COLEMAN J. FLAHERTY. 

/TOIyHMAN J. Flaherty was born at Brighton on the 
^^ 8th day of August 1861, and died January 25, 1895. 
In many respects he was a remarkable young man. 
He was a marked and always suggestive type of a cer- 
tain class of his ancestors who were born just after and 
out of a period filled with sentiments as enthusiastic and 
heroic as ever burned in the hearts of an intense people, 
and he inherited the impassioned and imaginative style pe- 
culiar to that time and people. He possessed certain char- 
adleristics which were not pushed upon the observation of 
others, but which while he was yet a boy attracted atten- 
tion and suggested a life of more than average attain- 
ment and accomplishment. Without means at command, 
and in conditions which would naturally suggest and en- 
courage the reverse course, he caught up those elements 
of a common school education which were within his 
reach and began to read law. Being remarkably tracta- 

149 



ble, imitative and observant, with a keen mental appetite, 
he made rapid progress. Like other live young men he 
had peculiar characteristics which were interesting in 
their moulding and development. These things are in 
their nature undemonstrative, and being in the inner life 
are not exposed to general observation, yet they are con- 
stantly living and thriving. The development of young 
minds is one of the most interesting experiences of life, 
and of all the disappointments that come to us it is to see 
them, just as interest is being centered in them, dashed 
out by early doom. Our young friend carried his book to 
the mill, to the office and wherever he could fill a spare 
hour with it. In 1892 he passed a creditable examination 
and was admitted to practice. Being of a vivacious and 
highly social nature he soon created a local interest, 
and that class of business which is always within easy 
reach almost instantly filled his time. Nor did he have 
to wait long for a better class of business. But after two 
short years of unexpected success, and before more than 
a few friends even knew that he was ill, it was announced 
that he was dead, having been attacked by a disease of a 
pneumonic nature, partially induced by a disease for 
which the passions, prejudices, cupidity and hypocrisy of 
otherwise good men are with the fault and misfortune of 
the victim equally responsible. 

Death never seems to neglect or seek particular 
victims. It would be sacrilegious to say that some live 
too long and others die too soon. It would be impudent 



151 

to attempt to arraign tlie supremacy of nature. We can- 
not, however, be insensible to tlie contrast between our 
emotions when we see the aged retire willingly to rest, 
and when we see youth torn from its hopes and expecta- 
tions ; nor can we fail to experience in each new occasion 
the inability and negligence of men in their individual 
and collective capacities to throw round the young those 
guards which experience never did and probably never 
will, send out on picket duty to guard itself. When all 
the hopes and expectations of a young man grow old with 
him, or are transferred to some succeeding one, he goes 
with reconciliation ; but when days and years of interested 
care are bestowed on hopes and expectancy of a fruition 
like that others have made their own, and then, just be- 
fore development is reached, a sirocco comes with pestilen- 
tial breath withering it all, it looks as though all hopes, 
anticipations, and endeavors were in vain. But this, of 
course, if not a false, is at least an unprofitable view to 
take of the subject. For every thought, every sentiment, 
or human attribute developed by men either is a contri- 
bution to the universal stock and goes into the great plan 
of the universe, or else our living is purposeless and worse 
than useless. 

Most stinging and grievous sensations come when 
young men die, even to those having no personal rela- 
tions with them, for then a common loss is felt. Al- 
though he v/as intimate in the sense of familiarity with 
but few, except in jocund, ready and willing intercourse. 



152 

many liad such general interest in him that they will be 
much disturbed by the absence of our late friend ; many 
besides the father who began to feel a comfort and a pride 
in his new designs, or the sisters so sensitive to his quick 
though humble successes, or his brothers whose fortunes 
were becoming more and more dependent on his, or his 
associates whose purposes and aspirations were so like 
his own. 

His life was zestful and enthusiastic. He had not 
reached the results of his expectations. His hours of 
disappointments and vexations had not come. It was a 
pleasant time for him to go. And so, looking through a 
window in his father's humble cottage into the bright 
sunlight, with his latest breath he said, "This is a pleas- 
ant day in which to bid the world good bye," and then 
went into a long silence, unbroken by any sound of 
envy, scorn or reproach. 



WILLIAM H. HUNT. 

^T^HK news of the death of Hon. William H. Hunt, 
^^ which occurred at his home in St. Albans April 9, 
1895, is more to the people of Vermont than a matter of 
general information. There was probably no man in the 
State from whom there ran into every part of it, even the 
remotest, more delicate or pleasant sentiments of friend- 
ship than from the late Senator Hunt. He was an ideal 
man. He was of that type which attracts attention, 
awakens admiration, solicits confidence and cements 
friendship. He possessed a finely constructed yet lively 
and strong physique. His tastes and conceptions of the 
proprieties of life, business and social intercourse were 
cultivated to the highest degree of perfection, but not to 
fastidiousness. His ensemble was very harmonious and 
accurately balanced. He was lively and pleasant, but 
his wit stopped at the line of vulgarity, and his familiar- 
ity ended before it bred contempt or destroyed that charm 

153 



154 

wHich feeds on something not yet revealed. His personal 
ambitions stopped at unjust rivalries and his impulses of 
friendship ran squarely on the line of duty. His genial 
influence as a legislator was bounded by prudence, and 
the freedom of his intercourse stopped at flattery and 
fawning, which his fine nature much detested. 

He was a man very difiicult for a rougher nature 
than his to describe. Most artistic language is required 
to bring out the traits and qualities of this man, who 
seemed to me to differ in some peculiar respedls or details 
from those of any other man I ever met. We see many 
men of noble traits who have offsets, opposites. Fine, 
harmonious and full developments are very rare and 
choice. But underneath all the fine qualities that made 
up our late beloved senator was an efficient motive power 
which made him an energetic legislator and man of busi- 
ness. He was the model figure from which the word 
artist chiseled the M^ords sunviter in modo, for Liter in re. 
His acquaintances have lost as true and tried a friend as 
ever lived, his associates in business a wise counselor, 
and the State a hopeful, conservative legislator and an 
ornament. I cannot mourn for such a pleasant coming 
and going as his was. I will not envy him. I only ask 
of kindly nature that time and failing sense may never 
take from me while I live the rich memory of such a man 
with whom I went so little way and yet so pleasantly. 



LITTLE DAVID H. BEATTIE. 

♦fTT seems but yesterday, nor scarce as long ago as 
" tHat, since a once strong but tHen declining man died 
amid as firm friendships as were woven in his day. And 
now finer and more delicate cords are loosed. The former 
was strong, vigorous, intellectual and enterprising; the 
latter, weak, helpless, precocious and comprehensive be- 
yond his years. It is curious how human traits and 
characteristics are reproduced. And when such repro- 
duction is not so subtle as to prevent recognition it is 
marvelous and intensely interesting to see one's friends 
live again in other lives. How strikingly is this illus- 
trated by two lives we now have in mind ! They are so 
associated and interwoven with each other that to speak 
of one always recalls the other, for one was the exact re- 
flection of the other, but in more delicate form. 

The imagination is quickened and the nerves thrill 
at quaint and unexpedled though familiar expressions of 
the younger man reproducing the exact thoughts in form 
and substance that are among our cherished memories of 
the ancestors. Born with like traits the mind of the boy 
ran quickly back amid ancestral associations and he 

155 



156 

seemed to be one in all the friendships there. The few 
remaining friends who lived in those older days greeted 
him very kindly, glad to see such a perfect miniature of 
an older friend that was, and whose name he bore, though 
he was so frail that the name seemed too heavy for him. 

Men who lived in the days of the grandfather saw 
that "this little abstract did contain that large which 
died" in their old friend. To all who knew these two 
lives their recollections of the boy are sad, sympathetic, 
and tenderly pleasant, because his life gave such mani- 
festations in model courage and little miniature desires 
and passions to be what his young fancy told him others 
had been. He is now. None are in more favorable con- 
ditions than he is now. We will not listen to any pessi- 
mistic allusions to his suffering life. It would embitter 
our memory of him and our lives. In what other conditions 
could he perform his little errands here ? He taught the 
strong to tenderly regard the weak, to exercise one-half 
the courage that he in his weakness did. He knit 
more closely the tender ties that bound his kindred 
each to each. He cultivated tender sentiments in the 
world sufficient to offset the influence of many rough, 
rude lives. He was the little herald which charity sends 
before her to teach the strong to aid the weak, and to 
summon all to do most kindly offices of good, especially 
to those who suffer not knowing why. 

Let all, even the strongest, bow with grateful hearts 
for the many lessons which this little life has taught us. 



COR.NEUUS W. HOB3S. 

/T' ORNELIUS Washington Hobbs was born June 5 
^■^ 1826 at Norway, Me. In 1847 he married Miss 
Lucy Hobbs of the same town. To them three daughters 
were born. S. Maria, married to A. F. Berry and now 
residing in Portland, Me. ; Mary E., the wife of E. E. 
Gonya, who died November 7, 1876 ; Vinnie R., the wife 
of Dr. J. H. Linehan, residing at Island Pond. Mr. 
Hobbs was one of the original stockholders of the Atlan- 
tic and St. Lawrence Railway Company, and was one of 
the first who entered into the construction of the road. 
He came to Island Pond in 1864, where his wife died June 
I, 1880. He commenced running on the road as brake- 
man, and after six months service in that capacity was 
promoted to that of train conductor, which position he 
held until 1890 when failing health compelled him to 
resign. He was a charter member of Oxford Lodge, F. 
& A. M., in his native town. He was a man of robust 

157 



158 

constitution, and so full of life and vitality that his life 
was continued for five years, many times beyond hope, ex- 
pedlation or seeming possibilities, even surviving a severe 
shock of paralysis, which completely prostrated him for 
twenty-three weeks before the time of his death. 

The terrors of death with all its attendant imagina- 
tions of evil, sombre, mysterious and gloomy forms and 
beings, are fast vanishing before the rational and cheerful 
light of intelligence and civilization. Death is an event 
which is getting to be looked upon and met in a more 
consistent and philosophical manner than formerly. All 
are more and more realizing that it is but a step in the 
process of human destiny ; and that it is only a great 
natural evolution in the being of each individual, so fixed 
and certain, and regulated by such unerring and exact 
laws, as to exhibit a design which though beyond human 
comprehension yet excites, even in terrestrial minds, 
wonder and admiration. At the same time we are capa- 
ble of comprehending some of its exact workings and 
many of its apparent purposes. It is occasioning less 
and less apprehension and gloomy mysterious supersti- 
tion. As we grow older we seem to be growing into 
ideas of continuous relations, the better reconciling and 
adapting us to the fa6l of our own going. Perhaps this 
comes from the fadl that our associations and associates 
are passing us and congregating beyond us, thus natur- 
ally attracting us thither. When a friend dies we do not 
now with unseemly lamentations as the heathen do, say 



159 

lie is lost, gone for ever, but simply that the great transi- 
tion has occurred which, if our minds conform to the con- 
ditions of each case, brings peace and rest to the dead 
and comfort to the living. To be indifferent to death or 
to human responsibility is ignoble. To embitter life 
with superstitious fears is imbecility. 

We are freshly reminded of these things by the death 
of our kind friend, the long time conductor towards whom 
the faces of friends and the traveling public turned for 
almost half a century, and whose life extended over nearly 
seventy years, each of which was filled with kindly offices 
to all. Death is teaching us much of its philosophy 
through the decease of our friend. Not so much in the 
silver of speech as in the golden silence in which he lies so 
peacefully, soothed and relieved by that process through 
which come perfect rest and peace. He was a kind and 
indulgent father and husband, a true, unselfish and un- 
compromising friend. Socially he Vas affable and un- 
pretending, pleasant, charitable and full of condescension, 
kindness and courtesy. Although suffering and battling 
for life through long years, never was affliction met with 
more ample compensations than in his case. Everything 
which human love or ingenuity could procure or invent 
was furnished him. Care, which cannot be purchased 
with money, medical skill, bestowed with most friendly 
devotion, came to him as free as air and more constant 
than sunlight. And even death itself came with kindest 
consideration. Its coming could not have been timelier. 



i6o 

The wife of his youth was gone. One child was sleeping 
beside the mother, and both the other children were en- 
gaged in new hopes and individual life purposes, but 
from which could be spared all the care and consolation a 
declining father could wish. He was patient and cheer- 
ful in suffering. He had no need to stay longer. He felt 
so. It was his time to die. And so death permitted his 
friends to look upon his still face and form so wonder- 
fully like what he had been many years before. And as 
they looked upon that face so calm and lifelike, grateful 
hearts said "It is well. Some unseen power has here 
done all things well." 



DAVID S. STORRS. 

'^^IMH "the tomb builder" does not Herald his coming. 
^^ It is true that there comes sometimes to men, dy- 
ing, a prescience of the approach of death and it is often 
so accurate as to almost enable them to measure his foot- 
steps. To others in high expectant life he comes and in 
an instant they are not. He needs no formal announce- 
ment. He requires no ec/ai. He brings his own keen 
essentials. Why this is we cannot know. It is imma- 
terial. It is vain to fret about unknown designs and pur- 
poses. They are beyond the hills, the sun, moon and 
stars, beyond the comprehension of man who vainly leap- 
ing to reach them only falls back to earth bruised and 
wounded. Our friends pass through a mystery. They 
reappear apparently in perfect rest. They pass again 
from view. We cover them with the warm bright memo- 
ries of the living which, though as pleasant as the flowers 
which cover their graves, fade almost as soon, while each 

i6i 



l62 

takes Ms place an atom in the mighty past. Thank 
Heaven what is lost of individuality goes into the accre- 
tion of the great volume of human being teaching us how 
little life is in the abstract and how much in the concrete, 
and how vain man is, putting himself against the universe. 

Reason is our asylum, whither we flee from madness 
and misery. It gives us hope that the bad in us will die 
and the good forever live. It strengthens us, but it does 
not hide the sorrowful situation. Even through it we 
see that not in anger nor to please, in silent awe but not 
with concealment, neither welcomed nor opposed, time 
has asfain sent his messeno^er to stir in our hearts sensa- 
tions greater than which have not been experienced in 
our community in a long time, to tell us that Judge David 
S. Storrs died at his residence in Brighton July 2, 1895. 

He was a son of Aaron and Eliza (Smith) Storrs. 
He was born at Randolph, Vt., Dec. 4, 1834 ; and educated 
at the local schools, at the Orange County grammar 
school and at Meriden, N. H. He read law with Lyman 
C. Chandler at Rockaway, N. J., with Hon. Philander 
Perrin at Randolph, and with the late Col. R. C. Benton 
at Hyde Park, Vt. June i, 1 861, he was appointed Deputy 
Collector of Customs at the port of Island Pond, and in 
1864 he resigned that position and went into full practice. 
He was State's Attorney for Essex County from 1864 to 
1868, and then postmaster for the town of Brighton, which 
town he represented in the state legislature in 1874. He 
represented the County in the Senate in 1876. He was 



i63 

Judge of Probate for tlie District of Essex from 1880 to 
1884, and was again elected to that office in 1892, and 
again in 1894. He was tax commissioner for tlie unor- 
ganized lands in the county for many years and was con- 
stantly engaged in other offices and business. He was a 
prominent member of the masonic fraternity. 

On the 7th day of September 1863, he married Sarah 
A. Robinson, a daughter of the late J. C. Robinson. To 
them were born two sons, Carl R. and George E. The 
eldest married a daughter of Lieut .-Governor Mansur, 
and is connected with the Wild River Lumber Company. 
The younger, a brilliant and scholarly young man, be- 
came principal of the Bethel school and suddenly died, 
amid sanguine hopes of the future, on the 28th day of 
November 1894. 

As a lawyer Judge Storrs was fearless and thorough, 
close, epigrammatic and terse. As an office lawyer he 
was among the very best. He was naturally reticent, 
thorough, impulsive, but was strong willed to back his 
designs. Although he had high ideals of professional 
accomplishments and rewards and was somewhat impa- 
tient at their slow coming, he quickly adapted himself to 
realities, surrounded himself with pleasant family, social 
and business relations. He very soon brought respect for 
his work and opinions, and himself into close contact 
with his surroundings. Energetic, impulsive and inci- 
sive, he entered into public and private designs with such 
practical zest that he became a party interested with al- 



164 

most every man lie knew. Outwardly lie did not seem to 
invite confidence but somehow lie was the confidant of 
many and he was true to every confidence reposed in him. 
His life seemed short and busy. Yet almost every bark 
that started on the sea of life with him went down before 
his, and whether in storm or in calm, on the wave or in 
the hollow of the sea, he never lost his courage or his 
fidelity to friend, client, party, or cause. 

Looking back through the passions of our lives so 
full of little zestful encounters (and we were nearly al- 
ways opposed,) I see no bitter thought. If any ever 
came, it went with every little strife. I have seen those 
among the truest, but quite such long and constant 
friendship I never knew. He came and traveled with me 
and went just before. Of all the lawyers in practice al- 
most 40 years ago he was among the oldest in the local 
forum and almost the last to go. He saw the animated 
forms and faces with whom he talked and worked in his 
young and stirring years almost all pass away. He saw 
a multitude of new replace the old, the nature of profes- 
sional work entirely change, new forms, methods and 
technics adopted, political issues become obsolete and new 
ones substituted, creeds varied almost beyond recognition 
and a new life with varying sentiments spring up all 
around him. But his habile nature kept him in harmony 
with all these changes. 

He held a lively interest in and kept time with the 
impulses and purposes of the times. He took special 



i65 

interest in the prosperity of liis town and quickly cauglit 
on to many means for its advancement, and in his dying 
day lie saw it filled with more strong men and fair women, 
more girls and boys pla3dng in its streets, and a greater 
multitude of village sounds than he had ever expected. 
No man went from him unheard because of poverty. He 
despised no man's cause simply because others did. He 
did not fawn around the rich and trample in scorn upon 
the poor. He did not court the strong and push away 
the weak. He had no contemptible hauteur. In all his 
encounters with others he was incisive, plucky, and some- 
times rash, but always just and generous. If he ever 
rained bitter words, they cleared away at once and were 
followed by demonstrations most kind and friendly. 

Many men meet life's duties by avoidance and by 
compromise. This too often breeds imbecility and inefii- 
ciency. Our friend met everything in life squarely, and 
he met death with consistency and courage. Against 
most forms in which death comes the victim has aids and 
reliefs. In battle the sight of death is lost in excitement 
or arrayed in a glory through which its terrors are un- 
seen. In coming suddenly it brings quick relief. In the 
form of most wasting and long consuming diseases it 
gives its victims flushes of apparent health and restoration, 
and lures them on with cheerful hope to the very end. 
But when it attacks its victim in open field, inflicting long 
and continual torture with intervals which only give the 
sufferer time to feel its mental pangs and to get reassur- 



i66 

ance of certain death, then when it returns to its attacks 
with open purposes and designs, and compels the man to 
constant resistance for many long months with a full 
knowledge of the terrible odds against him, ever pursu- 
ing him, never retreating, always afflicting, never reliev- 
ing, and in the midst of its overwhelming impositions 
strikes down a valiant son by his side, it is terrible, and 
incredible that it can be met with consistency and cour- 
age. Yet it was by our friend who in his last hours 
as calmly and as deliberately considered his situation as 
he ever did any subject in his life. How can his sorrowing 
friends be despondent in the presence of such magnificent 
courage, and while they remember him saying, "For my- 
self I am content ; I only feel for those I leave behind 
me." His trials are no proper subject of grief, for like all 
past suffering they are immaterial now. He sorely felt 
the loss of him who went in youth before him. Many go 
before others, but how the purpose of their going relates 
to others coming to them we cannot know. Is it wise, or 
sane, or good to indulge in a sorrow coming from a mys- 
tery ? 

And she, the saddest of all, has much besides to com- 
fort her, including happy reflections on two continuous, 
true and faithful lives, with no cruel angry waves tossing 
one here and the other there, no broken vows, no confi- 
dences turned awry, no love turned to scorn, and no 
blossoms on the altar crushed. A separation it is true 
has been ordered, but not by man ; and she passing that 



167 

way will learn that it is a temporary decree and will find 
it so recorded in the sacred Court of Heaven. 



A Scene of Unusual Sadness. 

♦|rT seems to us that the death and burial of Judge 
" Storrs was attended with circumstances and condi- 
tions, which if not as sad as any ever known, were beyond 
the experience and observation of any man or woman who 
observed them. Here was a man who had been fighting 
for nearly forty years, overcoming but hardly ever escap- 
ing obstacles which fate or accident could throw in his 
pathway. During this time he had patiently unravelled 
the little business complications and given advice and 
counsel to almost every man he knew. Thus he toiled, 
making the interests of his friends his own, often- 
times to his own disadvantage financially and otherwise, 
until disease fell upon him. He did not surrender then. 
After a long confinement he rallied, and though fully in- 
formed that his days were numbered, he worked steadily 
and constantly up to and including the day of his death. 
During this time he supported his family with a remark- 
able coolness and courage through the loss of a father 
and grandfather, of a brother and uncle, and stood up 
heroically'' in the loss of a son, one of the most brilliant 
and promising young men ever in our town. Even on 
his dying day he exhibited a courage which instead of 
seeking support gave fortitude to others. 



i68 

In all these circumstances so well calculated to and 
wliicli did make tlie minds of everybody keenly sensitive 
to tlie slightest toucli of any occasion for renewed sym- 
pathy, he died. While his body lay in the bed in which 
he died, and while the people were engaged in the enthu- 
siastic festivities of the nation's holiday, the cry went 
through the crowd announcing the fact that the house 
containing his body was on fire. With a wild rush a mul- 
titude of men, women and children went towards the 
burning house which, before scarcely anyone could reach 
it, was enveloped in smoke and flames, and almost every- 
body believed that the body was a prey to the devouring 
element. No pen can describe the consternation, pity 
and desperate solicitude of the people. No one can ade- 
quately appreciate the wild frenzy which exercised itself 
in frantic efforts especially to save the family souvenirs 
which were being pitilessly licked up by the cruel flames, 
that seemingly in cruelty and wrath exercised their 
fury in consuming first of all the favorite horse, a gift 
long ago made by the grandfather to the enthusiastic 
boy. It was indeed comforting to everybody when it 
was ascertained that the body had been by quick yet con- 
siderate action tenderly removed to the house of a friend 
and neighbor, and it was also equally solacing to reflect 
that the body of him who was the centre of all solicitude 
lay peacefully unconscious of the fear, awe, anxiety and 
terror which had been sweeping and swirling around it. 
And when the twilight came it found the festivities of 



169 

the day interrupted and gone. It revealed tlie silent 
eloquence of tlie smouldering embers of tlie home, the 
mourners watching with kindest friends, but not in 
their own home. Night fell with aching stillness on the 
scene, and when the light of another day returned each 
heart said "Thank God it is morning now to us all." And 
we hope it is so to him who has gone from us. 



HARRIET COE ROSEBROOK. 

♦fix ARRIET Coe Rosebrook was born in Burke, Vt., 
■■•^ in 1825, ^^^ was married to Hon. Wm. R. Rose- 
brook Marcb 29, 1855, and died at Brighton February 20, 

1896. 

Appreciation of tbe virtues of a great majority of 
people wbo live, grows out of demonstrative elements, 
something assumed or actively operating on others to 
make impressions. It is not because of anything of that 
nature that the whole community feels very deeply the 
loss of Mrs. Harriet Coe Rosebrook, whose death occurred 
as above stated ; but it is because of the rich, deep and 
silently interesting associations of the early days of this 
town and county which her death calls up in the minds 
of all who remember the local incidents with which she 
had been connected for nearly half a century. She and 
her husband, who survives, were both connected with fam- 
ilies which engraved their characteristics on the societies 

170 



171 

of whicli they were a part as firmly as any wlio have 
souglit this country, and have left as lasting impressions 
of old time virtue, probity, industry and frugality as any 
by whom these communities have been blessed. And 
in the exercise of quiet, unassuming patience, generosity, 
hospitality and womanly fortitude, and of courage in work- 
ing out silently, and with that graceful modesty which 
nature only gives to woman, those problems of true home 
life which most adorn and honor womanhood, she had no 
superior. The two, he a princely farmer, were surrounded 
by a wide acquaintance and numerous and honorable re- 
lations all over the country, and blessed with the rich and 
plain abundance of a country home which all in the more 
adulterated currents of life so often sigh for; and yet 
these conditions never for a moment moved this grand 
typical New England woman to lessen her sympathy for 
or eloign herself from the needy and most humble. In 
sickness and in health, in success or disaster, she was al- 
ways the same patient, toiling, generous, devoted wife, 
friend and neighbor. When the life of one of those hum- 
ble but grand pioneers goes out, a shade of subdued but 
deep sadness comes over the mind of everyone who has 
seen those interesting rural scenes passing in common 
life for nearly half a century. It is history, romance and 
fancy converted into realities. These things are not as 
intense in books, though written with a pen dipped in the 
most vivid imagination, as when written by deeds and 
lives on the hearts of living men and women. And as 



172 

this good woman, so dear to numerous relatives and friends, 
so treasured in the tender memories of all, and so warmly 
cherished and approved everywhere, exerted those silent, 
sacred and womanly influences in a gentle, humble way 
on earth, in a way in which only one who does no wrong 
to others can, so she has quietly passed into the presence 
of that great hereafter, sure of that approval of which the 
proudest and most pretentious being on earth would yield 
all earthly possessions to be assured. 



ABIAH BLAKE. 

JW^RS. Abiali Blake, widow of Charles Blake, died at 
*'"*' her home on Derby street April 9, 1896, after an 
illness extending over a period of ten years, aged 61 
years and eight months. For some time past her suffering 
had been intense and prolonged, yet she was uniformly 
cheerful and resigned. Four sons survive her, Charles 
E. of Los Angeles, Cal., general agent of Wood Harvester 
Co. ; Harry W. of Chicago, 111., assistant manager of the 
same company at that place ; Bdward S. of Fargo, No. 
Dakota, general manager of the same company there; J. 
Arthur of St. Paul, Minn., superintendent of department 
of supplies for the same company at that place. 

Mrs. Blake was the daughter of Warren and Jane 
A. (Morse) Mansur, and a sister of Col. Mansur, and the 
wife of Charles Blake who enlisted August 27, 1863, in 
Co. D., 6th regiment Vermont volunteers and was mus- 
tered into service the same day. He was killed at Win- 
chester, bravely fighting, September 19, 1864. 

173 



174 

Mrs, Blake and lier husband belonged to a large class 
of silent heroes in the late war. The visible and vaunted 
heroism of those times is constantly before the eyes of the 
people, while the greater heroism exercised in those peril- 
ous days has scarcely a voice to speak of individual brav- 
ery, suffering and sacrifice. He who went into the storm, 
moved by adventurous impulses is admired for the life 
and enthusiasm that inspired him, but at the same time 
he may not have been possessed of a high appreciation of 
the sacrifice he was to make, nor of the deepest convictions 
of devotion or duty. He who went from no settled life 
plans or purposes, induced b}^ gain or the novelty of the 
situation, is entitled to credit. He who went for honor 
and promotion and to make himself a name, and knowing 
that whether he fell or survived his name and fame would 
be secure, is entitled to high eulogium for his spirit and 
enterprise. But he in whose mind quiet sentiments of 
peace have been cultivated from his birth, who is tightly 
enlaced in little rural plans and purposes which engross 
his very life thoughts, who has united himself with a life 
companion and whose ways are begirt with growing in- 
fancy, and who stirred by a steru sense of duty breaks 
away from those tenderest ties, from all his life plans, 
and goes into a storm of war, an occupation for which he 
has no inclination, and which to him in the abstract is 
horrible, stands in point of patriotism and devotion over 
them and over all besides. He, going, sees no possibility 
of but slight return. He knows that where he falls he 



175 

will lie unknown, "perhaps uncoffined and unsung." 

But as great as was liis devotion and unselfisli sacri- 
fice, it was not as great as that of her who survived hi m 
for a time. The exercise of warlike qualities are stormy, 
impulsive, moved by the surroundings of the individual 
who exercises those qualities. ' But the storm, the stir- 
ring music of the march and strife, a touch of the enthu- 
siasm of the thousands that surround him, are all helps, 
bearing him up in the performance of duty. But when 
sacrifices are made and duties performed in silence and 
alone, and accomplished by the individual rising up, 
aided only by her own feebleness, and enduring through 
many weary days and long nights the silent struggles, 
deprivations and the loss of every fixed hope in life, 
she is in the exercise of a courage and devotion unsur- 
passed by any other conceivable condition. And when 
compelled to wander almost distracted and alone through 
the long and weary space which intervenes between his 
and her final going, then the sacrifice is almost immeasur- 
ably increased. His was the grand effort, a sublime ac- 
complishment, and terrible storm, the sudden silence, and 
then a peaceful sleep. Hers was the waiting, the watch- 
ing, the terrible suspense, the days, weeks, and years of 
gazing into the silent, gloomy life that suffered most by 
its prolongation. Such it is true are the lives of thou- 
sands of others, but particularly impressive are the lives 
of these two beings. We cannot exaggerate or perhaps 
adequately appreciate their contribution to the happiness 



176 

of tlie living, or the deep and tender respect and grati- 
tude due them. Is there no compensation in exchange 
for lives like these ? They neither asked nor expected 
any. He earned the truest and highest rewards that 
can be bestowed upon a brave man, and she the richest 
returns that can come to one who spends her life in 
the endurance of suffering and the exercise of unselfish 
devotion, and those womanly virtues the memory of which 
are revered and tenderly cherished by men everywhere. 



JOHN WILLAR.D HARTSHORN. 

♦fC^ON. Jolin Willard Hartshorn, a son of Colburn and 
■■•^ Elizabeth (Fay) Hartshorn, was born in Lunen- 
burg, Vt., October i, 1815, and died at his residence in 
that town April 22, 1896. He married November 16, 
1840, Ann Smith, a daughter of Chester and Betsy 
(Hutchins) Smith of Lunenburg, and sister of James 
Sumner and Frank Smith of Lancaster. Mrs. Harts- 
horn died March 10, 1883, in the faith of her fathers as a 
member of the Congregational Church. The children 
were Hon. Elden J. of Bmmetsburg, Iowa; Elizabeth, 
(Mrs. G. H. Emerson, deceased) ; Cora, (Mrs. Edward 
Lowell) of Lewiston, Me; and Henry C, whose wife has 
devotedly and patiently cared for the Judge in his last 
years. Judge Hartshorn was the seventh son of twelve, 
nearly all of whom lived to a good old age. 

At the public schools in Lunenburg the boy John 
W. rapidly acquired a limited, but practical education, 

177 



178 

wliicli, with quick impulsive enterprise, lie at once put 
to use. With rare judgment and quick perception he 
purchased a farm for $800, which, when its somewhat la- 
tent qualities were developed, he sold for $6000. For 
many years farmer Hartshorn was known all through 
the county and far beyond as an extensive farmer, stock 
breeder, drover and auctioneer. He was never idle. He 
was always using his means to develop some local enter- 
prise. He built the "Hartshorn Block" in Lancaster. In 
1872 he bought the material for printing, and established 
the Essex County Herald. He was actively engaged in 
positions of town responsibility, settling estates, adjust- 
ing private controversies, and taking a lively interest in 
every direction. He represented his town in the state 
legislature in 1852-3, was Judge of Probate in 1856-7, was 
senator for Essex County in 1 870-1, was one of the di- 
rectors of the state prison for several years, and was hold- 
ing town and local positions of responsibility continually. 
The situations and conditions in his life were such 
that his going demands more than a passing notice. He 
lived and died in the town in which he was born. He was 
imbued with those frugal, calculating, industrious and 
exact notions of business so peculiar to early New Eng- 
land, and exercised the careful and useful employment of 
capital, at home, except as the western currents moved 
him a little in his later years. He was a member of one 
of those large families so numerous as to resemble the 
grand patriarchal groups of olden times, and which were 



179 

among tlie most interesting features of New England 
society. He had the energy, push and adaptability which 
the rugged and primitive times in his town and county 
demanded. He made just, lawful and moderate usance 
of his money. He exacted his own but was just. He 
was quick, blunt and plain without dissimulation. As 
an opponent he was open, aggressive, impulsive, argu- 
mentative and denunciatory, but he had less malice in 
his speech and methods than men of more designing and 
polite demonstration. He was alive to the point of seiz- 
ing every opportunity to benefit himself and others, for 
he was as ardent in others interests as he was in his own. 
And when his steps grew tired and the hill more steep a 
loss of the impulses of his wide surroundings was plainly 
visible. He lived in intensely interesting days. The 
men born at his time, and who grew up with him, were 
energetic, vigorous and enterprising. They were so 
situated as to produce peculiarly faithful and friendly 
relations to each other. 

During the very first days of my acquaintance with 
our friend the main portions of this county were thrown 
together in a vigorous and united effort to prevent its dis- 
memberment. In that controversy friendships were born 
and cemented so closely that they more resembled family 
ties than those between citizens, not only between those 
on each side of the strife, but between those opposed 
to each other. With the rest Judge Hartshorn entered 
into that controversy^ with all the intensity of his nature. 



i8o 

With him when a contention was over, every trace made 
where the parties touched each other was gone. 

Did our friend ever excite envy ? Oh, yes ; live, 
enterprising men always do. No man runs boldly in 
life's stadium without coming in contact with others. 
But sitting in the silent presence of friends, beside that 
still form so indifferent to the emotions, sentiments and 
memories, which are made almost tumultuous by the 
deep silence of the occasion, if one envious thought should 
go out toward the peaceful sleeper it would fade ere it 
reached him. It would not meet even the lip curled 
scornfully in death, (for the dead feel no scorn) ; but 
that more reproachful, vanquishing, motionless face, now 
invincible against any sentiment or power of the living. 
Besides it would shrink away before the nobler qualities 
of him who was in fact; and is now, in the just memories 
of the living. 

When the storm of war came his enthusiastic en- 
deavors to assist in supplying means of defence to the 
country were appreciated by all, and his unmeasured de- 
nunciation of its foes was criticised by none. 

He had as lively and extensive association as any 
man of his day and generation. He had a firm and last- 
ing constitution that never tired, but was broken by vio- 
lence. Even after having been hurled to the ground he 
struggled to recover his a(5live comings and goings, but 
he reluctantly yielded at last. The wife of his youth 
was gone. His children breathing the nomadic tenden- 



i8i 

cies of the times were scattered, and it was well. A son 
in wliom lie indulged paternal pride had attained distinc- 
tion. He himself had assisted in making happy homes 
for his children. He had accomplished all reasonable 
life purposes. Only one thing seemed to be wanting. It 
cannot be purchased with money. It is that which strong 
men least anticipate a want of, namely, kindly offices of 
tender care for feeble age which disdains its situation and 
fretfully sighs for the strong days in which it despised 
such care. But scarcely had that want become manifest 
when a kindly voice seemed to say "If anything is want- 
ing I am here." And so the devoted, faithful and tender 
qualities of noble womanhood supplied his only want, 
and in that care he went patiently, cheerfully, and becom- 
ingly through his declining years to sleep amid a multi- 
tude of tender family and interesting neighborhood asso- 
ciations, and into that pleasant stillness which succeeds 
the enlivening sounds of a busy life. And now an enthu- 
siastic and useful life is ended. 

"We pass; the path that each man trod 
Is dim, or will be dim, with weeds ; 
What fame is left for human deeds 
In endless ages ? It rests with God. 



ELIJAH W. DAVIS. 

ELIJAH W. Davis died at his residence in Island 
Pond on Tuesday, July 7, 1896, at tlie age of 55 
years and 7 months. 

He belonged to a large family, whose parents came 
to this town almost at the time of its first settlement. 
He was a member of Island Pond Lodge, P. & A. M., No. 
44, and of Brastus Buck Post, G. A. R., No. yS. He also 
belonged to a class of locomotive engineers, who created 
and have always maintained so large a portion of the ani- 
mating spirit of our railroad enterprise ; who at the same 
time are physically hardened by toil, and made generous, 
kind and tender of heart by peril and watchful care of 
others; who share the fruits of their toil with those 
whom they meet in short successive furloughs, ever inter- 
rupted by sudden departures ; who, like their engines, 
(which seem to them to be living beings for which the 
driver has a fond affection) , strong as they are, wear out 

182 



i83 

by their lively, frictional employment. Many, like their 
machines, go suddenly, and while yet external evidences 
of failure have scarcely been discovered. Of such was 
our friend, who belonged to a class concerning which much 
that would be interesting might be said, but it is of the 
dead one we are now moved to speak. 

It is true that which is said of the dead is a matter of 
entire indifference to them. They are beyond censure or 
praise. But the memory of the good that men do in their 
lives should be sacredly preserved by the living, and for 
the living. All the pleasing associations, kind and 
charitable deeds, just and faithful actions of those gone 
should continue to warm, cheer and correct their surviv- 
ors. Otherwise the teachings, the merits, the worth, ex- 
cellence, and even the glory of the past would be lost. 
In contemplating how much and how favorable consider- 
ation shall be bestowed on a man as he goes out of the 
world, the good brought by his life into the world should 
be compared with what he got from it in return. This is 
not a cold commercial calculation, but a warm, generous, 
and just measurement of a good man's life. The good 
is valuable, and that should be taken account of, for memo- 
ries good breed their kind in their influence on the living. 

These reflections are the natural inducement which 
leads to thoughts suggested by the recent death of our 
friend, and which by reason of his usefulness to the com- 
munity, faithful care of his family, sound, healthy and 
strong society and industrial relations, has occasioned an 



1 84 

universal sadness. Some of the most excellent qualities, 
and most commendable actions were manifest in His 
life. To say that a man has been industrious all his 
life ; that he has been frugal and thrifty ; that he has 
regarded and practiced consistently and with respect all 
the family and society relations with which he came in 
contact; that the restraining influence of the law has 
never been required by any irregularity of his life ; that 
he has neither by himself, nor any of his dependents, 
rested in any way as a burden on anybody else ; that he 
has improved every spot on which he made a local habi- 
tation, thus adding to the aggregate wealth and comfort 
of his town ; that he has met all his obligations in his in- 
dividual transactions ; and that, without hope of glory, in 
the darkest hour of his country's peril, he left the harmo- 
nious and genial conditions of a peaceful life to face the 
storms and perils of war, — is much to say of any man. 
But all this can truthfully be said concerning our friend 
who has just left us. All his life he labored, and his 
efforts were productive. He went away before he was a 
burden to any human being. True to wife, children, and 
friends, they sadly grieve at their unexpected separation 
from him. But let them reflect that they cannot wish 
their grief was less without wishing that he was less 
worthy of their sad aflection. No man's life can be more 
successful than that of him the plain statement of whose 
qualities, or the simple story of whose deeds, is his high- 
est eulogy. 




JTHUR5TONJ 



i^W 



I 



igcOMOTiVE- 



pnra ICAUY ttARD&NCD 5Y TolU, 

( ^ 

AND HADe (5f'HrROu6,KlND AND \ 




\ TEND&R OF HE APT 5Y PtPfL ANDy 
WATCHFUL CARE^ 
OF" OTHER61 



-♦* 



^•^ 



fr»^ 



DAV)5i'^ 




<^'^S 




^MDR^W 



Abstract* Worth as Typified in a Distinguished 
Vermonter.* 

^^HBRE recently lived in tliis State a prominent man 
^^ who seemed to be in many respects or characteris- 
tics peculiar to himself — as all men are, more or less. He 
seemed to me, who never saw him except in the public 
horizon, to be as guileless by nature as a child; a man 
who did not seem to have the least idea that he was 
adorning society with himself, and who was so wanting 
in artful attempts at impressions, that he had sometimes 
made remarks so plain and artless as to bring- upon him- 
self the criticisms of a time of stern and rigid conven- 
tionalisms. He was a man whose natural impulses and 
human instincts had never been withered by false pride, 
arrogance, or the foolish notion that occupjdng a high 
position, it was becoming in him to assume a patronizing 
attitude toward the people. Honest and frank, he never 

♦Governor Levi K. Fuller. 

185 



i86 

even excited public jealousies or suspicions by standing 
apart from the masses with little groups seemingly in 
counsel concerning individual designs. Pure in mind, 
honest in purpose, loo frank in his intercourse with oth- 
ers for the times, he lived less in the cold conventional 
story mechanically formulated of Vermont's distinguished 
men than he otherwise would, but as much in the warm 
and friendly hearts of the people as any other man of his 
day and generation. No man in his estimation was his 
superior in consideration of his wants or rights, and none 
inferior. Men in the remotest parts of the State are fa- 
miliar with instances in which he has treated a fellow- 
man (while independent of all his surroundings himself 
and actuated by no possible motives of policy) with a 
kind consideration which the stern conventionalists, 
among whom he stood almost alone, looked upon with 
disfavor as compromising the dignity of his high position 
and indirectly that of their own. They did not consider 
he was doing the most royal acts of manhood. His am- 
bition did not correspond with ordinary aspirations. He 
was ambitious, but I always suspected that it was bor- 
rowed, that it was rather the reflection of his surround- 
ings, the desires and hopes of others seeking accomplish- 
ment through him. 

No man in his day by his own endeavors and from 
himself as the direct source, has contributed more to the 
enterprise, inventive genius, and development of the ma- 
terial interests of the State than has the subject of this 



i87 

sketch. Modestly and without ostentation he had worked 
almost with bucket and brush for the cleanliness, order, 
and economy of our State institutions. He got little 
credit for it at the time. The reason is obvious. He 
worked to better conditions in detail. He did practical, 
out-of-view work. He was in direct service towards actual 
needs. Much good to others, however, is coming out of 
his interest in those humane and enlightened institutions; 
none to him. He needed none ; desired none. But he 
awakened an interest in them, and by the lights he lit in 
their dark recesses the people are attracted to their con- 
ditions. Outer walls are built, more and more spacious 
rooms are made, floors laid, sanitary facilities furnished, 
and the unfortunate are let out on to the fresh earth, and 
green grass, and into the shining light of the sun, and 
given some inducement to cultivate brighter thoughts, 
instead of being maddened to curse God, their keepers, 
and law and society, in gloomy, ungenerous and oppres- 
sive apartments. All honor to such a man, who working 
and reflecting that his work was of no individual impor- 
tance, yet opened the way for the last efficient guberna- 
torial administration to effect such substantial improve- 
ments as it did, and which will enable the people of the 
State to expend its appropriations in a constitutional man- 
ner, not to give money to individuals and depend upon 
the uncontrolled will of the donees for as much as they 
may be pleased to do in return for it. 

This man's life also furnishes an example of that 



i88 

Mgliest and most manly condition so characteristic of 
New England — absolute independence as based upon 
a life occupation wbicli stands like a rock, grand, secure 
and rugged; yet healtky and comfortable amid tbe uncer- 
tain, fretful, and speculative adventures of tkose who liave 
no fixed place, purpose or business in life, but who catch 
here and there for easy places, requiring the least hard 
work and developing the least substantial individuality. 
It is with proud satisfaction that we contemplate a man 
who stood unswerved from his own life purposes by the 
fascinations or allurements of public life; who from his se- 
cure position of individual and occupational independence 
could look with calm but becoming defiance on politics as 
being merely incidental to the high purposes of his own 
life. 

But there are still pleasanter features in the life we 
are contemplating than are produced by the sterner strug- 
gles for simply maintenance and success, and these are 
seen in his love of science, music, invention, history, and 
the world's interesting things of which he was sur- 
rounded with rare specimens. Home, kind and tender 
family conditions, friends, strong and serious enterprising 
business and public relations, connected, secured and 
enlivened by the plainest, sincerest, and most cordial so- 
cial amenities, are among the most agreeable and promi- 
nent contemplations of his life. To this may be added 
the finishing feature, that of a sincere Christian gentle- 
man. "Ne'er yet did base dishonor blur his name." 



1 89 

Clean and clear work wore his life away until lie became 
breathless. 

Thus has lived some time in the history of Vermont, 
[and it is not difficult to tell when] a man strong and hu- 
mane, aristocratic and just, demonstrative and modest, 
strong and tender, wealthy and benevolent, enterprising 
and kind, worldly and reverential, and a man whose name 
we have no occasion to write here, because it is written 
in every one of the foregoing words. 



CARL G. CATE. 

" Re ye stout of heart, and come 
Bravely onward to your home." 

— Arabian Poem. 

HEN a man from his habits, tastes, and manners is 
not inclined to mingle in the common stock of so- 
cial life, he becomes more attached to those with whom he 
is more constantly in touch, and his relations to those few, 
and theirs to him, are more sincere than that cold and heart- 
less intercourse in which men misspend the better and 
sometimes greater part of their lives. And so grief is 
greatest when most retired, deepest and most sincere 
when most restricted, most alone. The devotion of a man 
to earthly objects is from its nature lessened by division 
and distribution. It may be broadened, diversified, and 
the objects of such devotion be multiplied, but it is thus 
rendered diffusive, and loses its strength and substance. 
And now in just this situation a little group is mourn- 

190 



191 

ing the loss of a man whose life was filled with instincts 
and sentiments of home, and who after many weary 
months of care and nightly vigils at the bedside of oth- 
ers, sank down exhausted on his own, and after a linger- 
ing sickness, died at his home on Derby street in this 
village Sabbath morning, at the age of 71 years. Carl G. 
Gate was a son of the late Karl Gate. The latter was one 
of the early settlers of Charleston, who going up "the 
long hill" found and made a very productive farm, which 
gave him such abundant returns for his honest industry 
that he soon found himself down in the village engaged 
in the mercantile business, ensconced with comfortable 
confidence of his townsmen. But a cruel fire, as if envious 
of his frugal store, licked up his substance, while he 
barely escaped, rescuing his wife from the flames. In 
1882 the sou Carl came to this village and made himself 
a home, and resided here to the time of his death, living 
as a quiet, peaceable, respectable, and law abiding citizen, 
a good neighbor, a humane man, indulgent father, a kind 
husband, and an honest man. He leaves a wife, formerly 
Miss Betsey Morse, and a daughter, now Mrs. B. B. 
Gonya. The funeral was held at his late residence. 
Mr. Cate died firm in the faith of universal salvation. 
His funeral services were conducted in accordance with 
his wishes, he having arranged all the details. Porter 
H. Dale offered prayer, read appropriate passages of scrip- 
ture, and concluded brief remarks with the Arabian poem 
"After Death." 



192 

Aud now that our friend and neighbor has come and 
gone like others, let us who remain not answer this or 
any other summons of death "neglectingly." If it comes 
in fitting time, especially at the time when nature's God 
has wisely provided for dissolution, let us all move trust- 
fully along with nature's mighty, mysterious, yet har- 
monious evolutions, each one saying as he goes : "Ii is 
well. I desire no man to sorrow for me." 



JOSEPH A. MANSUR. 

^jy^EATH usually finds a place in tlie hearts of surviv- 
^^ ors never before known in human experience. 
When men die it is well for the living to reflect seriously, 
provided the trend of thought is in a healthy direction. 
If it is not, then it were better that indifference occupy 
the mind. To associate thoughts of death with one's 
self, subjects such thoughts to the passions, fears, selfish- 
ness, and all the impulses of self as distinguished from 
reasoning in the abstract. To base considerations on 
such a subject, on desires of passionate impulses, is un- 
certain and illogical. To reflect on death as being the de- 
stroyer of all the hopes, ambitions, and life purposes of 
men, instead of being their accomplishment, only blunts 
the edge of enterprise, dims the enthusiasm of life, and 
produces indolence and inertia, mentally and physically. 
To see nothing but gloom in it, only breeds in the mind 
of the living, dark, shadowy, and distorted forms of hu- 

193 



194 

man beings, listless, purposeless, passionless, and soul- 
less, instead of strong, Healthy and cheerful figures of 
energy, enterprise, and pleasant images of men, women 
and children with good bright faces turning here and 
there in life's interesting pursuits. Every man's life has 
in it interesting features from which profitable and prac- 
tical sentiments, comforting to the living, may be drawn. 
Bach human being clearly sees them in another only 
when disconnected with self. This is not a disagreeable 
reflection, because if individual minds were wholly occu- 
pied with the great plan of man's existence and destiny 
in the aggregate, individual considerations would be 
lost, each life would lose much of its importance and value 
to its possessor. He would regard himself as simply a 
part of a great abstract plan in which he could not con- 
sider himself as himself. Every life has its peculiar 
purposes, more or less important, according to circum- 
stances. Men and women live in groups and classes. 
They touch each other in common interests. This is the 
only way individual zest in life can be generated. 

This leads us to say that the community is saddened 
by the death of Joseph A. Mansur, who died in this town, 
Monday evening, October 19, aged 67 years. He was a 
brother of ex-Lieut-Gov. Mansur, and Orange Mansur, 
and was a son of the late Warren and Jane A. Mansur. 
Joseph A. was born in Morgan. He was educated at the 
common schools, and was subjected to such toils and 
hardships as were incident to pioneer life in Vermont. 



195 

He was made self-sacrificing in the care of others by being 
brought in contact with sickness, and exhibited a devo- 
tion to a member of the family which brought ample re- 
turns to him during his own long years of sickness. He 
belonged to a distinct class of men like which we have 
made allusion to, beginning in this county with Joseph 
Wait, its first sheriff, and extending to the present time. 
The subject of this sketch belonged to that class of offi- 
cers at a peculiar time ; a time when many of the condi- 
tions of the county, as well as of the whole country, were 
in a transitionary state. There are times when men and 
even society are in such semi-primitive conditions that 
they do not readily recognize judicial authority and sub- 
mit to it, when they do not appreciate the executive force 
of the law and possess and exhibit a feeling of dogged 
obstinacy towards any official who assumes authority over 
them. This is peculiar to new communities, and these 
conditions frequently met court officials in the days when 
our late friend was in office. He did much to educate 
men to submit to legal process, moved by the more civi- 
lized considerations of respect for the law rather than by 
the fear of being overcome by physical force. 

In the line of those men referred to, could be found 
most agressive ones, most cunning, and most sensational 
operators, but for straightforward, consistent, conserva- 
tive, safe and experienced work in that official line, Joseph 
A. Mansur was the equal of any that we ever had. He 
was sheriff of this county year after year while other de- 



196 

serving and competent men were at hand, but lie was never 
intrusive. He was kept in position by common consent. 
He was honest, faithful, efficient, and at the same time 
conciliatory, in the execution of the duties of his office. 
He was in position so long that he acquired large experi- 
ence in the work. He always seemed anxious to execute 
the laws with the exact purposes for which they were en- 
acted, without arrogance or assumption, and could not be 
made a pliant tool for individual schemes outside the law. 
So familiar a figure had he become in his official charac- 
ter that his influence was much in preserving good order 
and in dissipating little annoying differences which it 
had been much the custom to end in expensive litigation. 
Being county sheriff and deputy for so many years, even 
during the whole life of the younger inhabitants of the 
county, he came to be associated with everything pertain- 
ing to the police regulations of the locality. He had so 
long experience in the work, and so thoroughly had he 
become acquainted with its nature, that he was entrusted 
with most of the important and difficult cases in the 
vicinity. So identified did he become with his work and 
his position that his name became a household word, and 
was a synonym even among children for rebuke and le- 
gal restraint. He is spoken of throughout the county 
with great respect and cordial memory, especially by his 
old deputies with whom sickness had prevented him from 
associating for several years last before his death. 

He lived in the most interesting period of the legal 



197 

history of the county. At the time of his coming into 
office the rough personal collisions of litigants were giv- 
ing place to contentions more important and more 
methodical, like settling the titles to landed property. 
The opening up of this northern lumber territory brought 
business, and other adventurers, into the county. Some 
classes of litigation became abundant and were conducted 
with as much skill and proficiency as in any other por- 
tion of the State, most of the lawyers and judges coming 
from without the county. This not only gave the offi- 
cers of court a high order of business, but excellent train- 
ing and cultivation. This our late friend improved, and 
fast grew into general confidence and friendship, and was 
constantly occupied among the people until about eight 
years since, when his health failed and he remained an 
invalid up to the time of his death, which to him was 
kind emancipation from pain, relief from agony, and quiet 
rest from suffering. 

It is indeed sad to think that those enthusiastic days 
of middle life could not forever last. But probably each 
generation, as well as ours, has felt just the same, not 
appreciating the folly and weakness of such sentiments 
in the face of the fact that universal law moves as a mat- 
ter of course one generation forward to make room for 
another. Our late friend was among the last of the sur- 
vivors of the period of his active life, and when the few 
remaining ones consider how unavailing and weak the 
emotions of human beings are, and that all the sufferings 



198 

of the dead are as thougli they never had been, then 
amid the silent memories of an old friend, they can wait 
undisturbed the workings of those great but harmonious 
laws which so kindly, noiselessly, and gently transfer 
them into their elemental conditions beyond the reach of 
suffering, want, reproach, scorn, ingratitude, and all the 
burning agonies of "life's fitful fever." It will be of no 
avail after we are dead, but it is a consolation while liv- 
ing, to wish that our sleep may be as peaceful as that of 
our friend and brother seems, and that our lives may 
have conformed as strictly to moral and human laws as 
did his. 



W. W. CHENEY. 

^^HE current bears us all along. It stays not for the 
^^ hopes and purposes of anyone. In a day and even 
an hour a man is as though he had never been. Well 
knowing that the fact is not so, he yet feels while living 
that he is immortal on the earth. His conscious exis- 
tence so overwhelms him that he cannot realize that he 
ever will be no part of life or consciousness. This delu- 
sion, like many other phantoms of life, was created by a 
wise providence to keep us from madness, misery and 
premature destruction. Purposes, tastes, passions and 
living impulses lead us from gloomy death and despair 
to life's exhilarating chase, which makes the world glow 
with health and youth and life. If all men had the same 
tendencies humanity would become so focussed and 
wedged that the world would stop. The fanatic, even 
though he go mad in attempting to turn all lines of 
thought and action into his own, does not disturb the 

199 



200 



working of great nature's laws. The miser, who mechanic- 
al) y and technically lives an economical and virtuous life 
and sees his friends and perhaps his offspring want, tries 
to delude himself with the idea that he is doing a work 
founded in wisdom and sagacity, and one that will endure, 
but others come after him with different tendencies and 
quickly scatter his accumulations in revelry and scorn 
to fructify the common world. Some seek fame, and by 
arts and wiles get outward show and hollow homage. 
Such an one will pass a sunny day with jocund fellow 
reapers, but on the morrow will be unsightly remains, 
with not even a lip to curl in scorn of the beggar who lies 
beside him, and who came from contumely to peaceful 
rest. By going in so many different ways, men level 
each other's work, then death levels all. And so it is 
wisely ordained that each man go on in his own way ac- 
cording to his innate tendencies. 

Speaking of our friend who died at his residence in 
Brighton on the 25th of March 1897 at the age of 50 
years, we say he was a child of nature. He loved the 
fields and woods, and the beautiful lakes and winding 
streams with which his romantic New England home 
abounded. He was skillful with the rod and gun, a na- 
tive expert. The romance of forest and stream had a 
charm for him that was irresistible. It had and always 
will have the same attractive influences on even the lead- 
ers of the world's great events. And so our friend often 
fished and hunted on the same lakes and in the same for- 



20I 

ests witli the most distinguished men in the land, with 
more zest and proficiency, and greater capacity for enjoy- 
ment in that respect, than the most favored in general 
privileges. When anyone spoke of that employment he 
usually finished with the request, or the expression of a 
wish, to accompany our friend where fish and game were 
most abundant. Much merit is due to the man who is 
master of the art he exercises however humble it may be. 
There is a wide, deep and interesting romance in the 
lakes and forests so easy of access as are those in this re- 
gion, and yet which are so primeval when reached. Of 
these our friend never wearied. Considering the crude 
surroundings in which he was accustomed to be so much, 
he possessed many traits of character which commended 
him to our friendship and respect. He had sincere re- 
spect and love for wild surroundings, and never tired of 
them. Besides, his devotion to nature was absolutely un- 
selfish. He never captured fish or game because he 
wanted to possess it. He never led his patrons where 
fish and game were less abundant for selfish gain. He 
was generous to his friends even to profligacy ; he was 
generous to everybody. He had a grateful heart which 
always moved him to others' enjoyment. He was a most 
devoted friend and was hospitable beyond his means. He 
was an example of hospitality, charity and self-sacrifice 
to make others comfortable and happy. His genial, gen- 
erous and skillful services, though sometimes liberally 
rewarded, were always at the command of his friends. 



202 

However free his speech might be there was no malice in 
him. A better neighbor never lived, and seldom has 
there been a man among us whose real sentiments have 
been more misconceived by the world around him. With 
all his contact with sporting style, manners and lan- 
guage, no one ever heard any profanity from his lips, 
and none bordering on it except most cautious and gin- 
gerly expressions. So reserved was he in this respect 
that his expressions most approaching profanity were 
made the subjects of pleasant jests. He never uttered a 
word that was not expressive of devotion to and approval 
of any member of his family. And so while our sympa- 
thies go out to a family which has lost a devoted hus- 
band and kind father, we can unhesitatingly say in the 
presence of those most intimate with him. that our late 
friend was as constantly returning good for evil as any- 
one we ever knew. 



HELENA DAVIS. 

'^^HB earth is bathed in autumnal tears ; but not for 
^^ the dying year. There is no consistent grief but 
that which comes from remorse. Nature has or gives 
little cause for grief, for that comes not so much from 
what is decreed or is to be, as from the manner in which 
mortals distort conditions fixed by kind design. Nature's 
teardrops bedew the earth it is true, but only to subdue 
and mellow the productions of the dying year. So should 
ours fall only to relieve and refresh the mind. In all 
things known are creation and destruction, growth and 
decay, life and death. Without them, all infinite design, 
purpose and progress would stop. In vegetable life the 
loveliest, most tender and delicate formations, pass away 
first, just stopping a moment with delicious exhalations, 
while the sturdy oak withstands the storms of many win- 
ters. So in human life many strong men and women 
live far into the winter, while the delicate die early. Does 

203 



204 

a kind and sensible nature mourn and grieve because tlie 
short life of a flower, to whicli it is entirely indebted for 
its sujDernal beauty, is taken away ? And shall mortals 
in endeavoring to rise above nature, sink below it in 
mourning, because one is called early. 

They say she died of a cruel disease, and was led 
aw-ay by a flattering and deceitful conductor. If it is not 
by design, then it certainly is by a chance that is beyond 
human comprehension and credulity, that compensations 
are sent to assist and comfort the dying. Chief among 
them are hope and resignation. The alluring blandish- 
ments of that suave disease, consumption, although cre- 
ating vain hopes, yet serve to furnish comfort, without 
which suffering might end in delirious agony, and almost 
always buoy up the afflicted with effective though false 
hope till near the end, then brings sudden reconcili- 
ation to death. Just as in tropical climes the most invit- 
ing fruits conceal the most subtle poisons, the shade of 
the most luxuriant tree kills, or as the vampire surrounds 
its victim with perfumed air while it gorges itself with 
life blood, so do all the beauties and comforts of life con- 
ceal its evils. And although they at times invite to dan- 
ger by false confidence, it is not so in the case of con- 
sumption, for the nurse though never so credulous, is not 
deceived, even while the victim may be, by brilliant 
flashes of almost superhuman beauty in women, or tem- 
porary exhibitions of intellect in men. 

And she to whom tender tribute is now due, alwa3^s 



205 

a kind, amiable and good-hearted girl, grew patient, hope- 
ful, and was inspired by a silent womanly Heroism, more 
intense because silent and secluded. Buoyed up and 
cast down alternately by Hope and gloomy anticipations, 
sHe exhibited traits remarkable to those within the range 
of observation, and which warmed into affection those 
who did not know her completely till then. 

Hearts are sad now. But when that period of loneli- 
ness which always accompanies death shall have passed 
by ; when reason shall have pointed out all the consola- 
tions along the last year of her quiet, painless, yet ex- 
haustive walk : when friends reflect on the refining 
process through which she was passing; when they 
see her sinking so quietly as if to slumber, and then so 
beautiful in death that kind hearts are moved to deftly 
array her as if for a festival, although they cannot call 
her happy, because they do not know about that ; when 
they see her there, so careless, peaceful, restful, and so 
still that they would shudder if any hand should rudely 
disturb a single detail of that choice and sacred situa- 
tion, — mature minds are comforted by such conditions. 

But there is a delicate feature in the scene that does 
not coalesce with its surroundings, — one little heart too 
turbulent to harmonize with the repose of such an atmos- 
phere. The grief of a little girl child comes from un- 
bounded, unappreciated and unalleviated sorrow, more 
deep because unknown, unnoticed and neglected, and 
more bitter because the sufferer sees no cause. While to 



2o6 

others the object of her childish sentiments was one of a 
class having certain traits common to that class, and a 
common destiny in the mind of the little one, her idol 
possessed them alone and bestowed them all on her. To 
this one, death brought nothing she would accept by way 
of recompense. But even for such, kind nature has pro- 
vided bountifully in the despatch with which the sorrows 
of the young heal, and the object of them blends with liv- 
ing associations until it becomes simply a rich, pure 
memory, passionless and idealized. 



ASA WENTWORTH TENNEY. 

^ UDGE Tenney, so well and favorably known in Ver- 
kJ mont and New Hampshire during his earlier years, 
died in Brooklyn at his residence, on the loth of Decem- 
ber 1897. One sister was the wife of L. L. Durant of 
Montpelier, another married a man prominent in finan- 
cial circles in Cleveland, Ohio, and another was married 
and lived in the town of Dalton. 

Soon after his appointment to the bench he was 
possessed of a desire to visit the scenes of his early life 
and wrote a life-long friend to meet him at Lancaster. 
Pressure of judicial business compelled him to cancel the 
engagement and now comes the sudden tidings of his 
death. He never saw his childhood home again. 

And now tones of sorrow, like the sighing of aeolian 
harps moved by cold night winds, breathe through the 
land and murmur sad revivals of those academic memo- 
ries of old Thetford Hill, of Dartmouth College, and of 

207 



2o8 

tlie great city of New York, withwliich he was connected. 
His death sends a thrill of sorrow through the hearts of 
the few lonesome survivors of those classic though rustic 
days when, with burning enthusiasm, he poured forth the 
songs of Virgil as though he were an ancient bard breath- 
ing the romance of his own ancient times. Probably the 
tidings of the death of no man in New England would 
stir more extensive or deep personal sentiments and sen- 
sations than has this announcement. Born on a farm in 
Dalton, N. H., his father, a neat, frugal farmer, with a 
large family, limited means and an abundance of healthy, 
conscientious sentiments, Asa W. has all his life con- 
stantly displayed the grandeur of endeavor, growth, ex- 
pansion and progress-, produced by a motive power solely 
within himself. Tall, commanding, vigorous, hopeful, 
and most charitable and sympathetic toward the attain- 
ments of others, he came from the little log school house 
in Dalton to the Academy at Thetford, and at once be- 
came one of the boy leaders in healthy sports, in the 
most masculine branches of study, as well as in art, 
music and poetry. Being of a fine figure, he quickly ac- 
quired those manly accomplishments so attractive in 
business and society. Passing through Dartmouth Col- 
lege, by constant accretion and not by fitful acquisition, 
he fast took to himself the best and most useful elements 
of education, so that when he graduated in 1859 he came 
from the schools as well equipped educationally as one 
need be. His assortment was different, because his taste 



209 

and nature were different, from those of his townsman, 
Judge Ladd, but the two (students tell us) gave a proud 
scholastic reputation at Dartmouth to unpretending Dal- 
ton, and gave assurance of high positions to them as 
prominent examples of what may be achieved by the in- 
trinsic motive power of will. After passing through a 
course of study at Lancaster, by close application, he be- 
came well qualified to practice in any court in the 
country. But he had struck just that point of time at 
which every young lawyer is startled by the enquiry 
*'Who knows what I am good for ? " He did not stop to 
dream or doubt, but plunged boldly into the great city of 
New York and was practically lost to human sight. The 
ringing laugh that enlivened the still air of academic 
days was silent or lost in the noise and rattle, the swirl 
and vociferous medley of a great city, whose currents go 
roaring in fixed and huge channels and never seek a 
lonesome adventurer except to dash him on to the pave- 
ments or against the huge walls. He was alone in a vast 
and mighty city, and apparently as powerless as Victor 
Hugo's victim struggling alone in and with the huge 
waves of an ocean. But the young adventurer never lost 
a particle of heart or hope. He opened an office and in- 
dustriously waited for a drop that the mighty currents 
might dash into it. Nor had he long to wait before an 
opportunity presented itself. This was all he required. 
He at once attracted attention, assumed his place among 
the best lawyers in the city, established an elegant su- 



2IO 

burban home in Brooklyn, created liappy family relations, 
and was in the full tide of success. But he was in cur- 
rents that do not bear a man lazily along. For as ocean 
currents and storms require the greatest vigilance and 
nautical skill, so a lack of either in those mighty city 
currents and stormy excitements would soon dash an 
urban navigator into oblivion. After establisbing him- 
self in the courts young Tenney exhibited such coolness 
and courage in the suppression of those riotous proceed- 
ings, which all remember, as to give him a much wider 
recognition and increased confidence. He was an accom- 
plished speaker, with broad and generous methods, 
healthy and popular sentiments, a warm patriotism and 
geniality, which attracted the attention of such men as 
Beecher and Blaine, and he became a favorite speaking 
companion, especially of those two men. He argued some 
cases and made speeches that attracted national attention. 
He was by three presidents successively appointed dis- 
trict attorney for the eastern district of New York, and so 
faithfully and ably did he perform the duties of that po- 
sition that last September, without being urged for the 
place. President McKinley went by strong solicitations 
for other candidates, and appointed him United States 
District Judge. He immediately exhibited great ability 
and efficiency, and won the love and respect of the bar. 

A man into whose life has been crowded more con- 
stant energy, enthusiasm, companionship, humanity and 
yet pleasant and considerate determination, has seldom 



211 

lived. And now as lie lias gone up step by step perliaps 
to the top landing of his ambition, (for from his begin- 
ning he had gone far up,) and just as he had assumed a 
position which he had attained only by long, exhausting 
toil, the startling announcement comes to our ears that 
he is dead — "by overwork." With quick impulses a 
hand is steadily laid upon the heart or head, and without 
thinking we exclaim : Oh ! men, men, children of a larger 
growth, this one's blocks are toppled down and strewn 
upon the carpet. This is not so. Not a particle of the 
construction of his life has been disturbed or effaced. 
Man builds not for himself alone. Our friend and brother 
has been taken away from his work, but it all remains to 
be continued by others. Let the groveling pessimistic 
remark that "he died just as his end was attained, and 
the labor of all life is lost," perish with its utterance. 
Such degrading sentiments brooded over will make us 
either drones or maniacs. They are unworthy the noble 
life of our friend. His work remains ; his memory 
lives ; and the greatest gladness in our sorrow comes from 
the fact that his courage has animated us, his charity 
enlarged us, his benevolence instructed us, his patience 
tempered us, and all his qualities warmed us into kindlier 
and more hopeful conditions. And we are also glad that 
this has been done through the influence of a man who 
has been in the thickest of life's battles, and who has 
fought most valiantly without losing his genial and hu- 
mane sentiments. 



JOSEPH ANDREW. 

lY OSEPH ANDREW was born in Bradley's Vale (now 
%J Concord) June 1835. With a common school edu- 
cation, and a muscular development created by constant 
toil and exercise, he attained his majority as a well de- 
veloped, strong and intelligent young man. At the age 
of 20 years (in 1855) he married Miss Lucinda Jenkins 
of East Burke, who died January 5, 1880, leaving a 
daughter, Mrs. Leon R. Cook, of Yarmouth, Me. No- 
vember 23, 1881, he married Miss Mabelle Peckham of 
Lynn, Mass. To them four children were born, three of 
whom are living. 

He came to Island Pond to reside in 1856, and the 
year following he entered the service of the G. T. Ry. 
Co., and his quick mastery of the philosophy which per- 
tains to the construction and use of the engine soon pro- 
moted him to the position of engineer, which position he 
held until 1895, when failing health compelled him to re- 

212 



213 

linquish it. He was a cool, careful, attentive aud indus- 
trious man in respect to his work. THe life and work of 
an engineer presents a wide and fruitful field for the ex- 
ercise of a pliilosopkic mind ; he studied intently those 
principles relating to the structure and uses of engines, 
and the use and application of steam power generally, un- 
til he became one of the most intelligent engineers on 
the line of the road. He was everywhere that he was 
known recognized as a genius in his line and work. He 
was a man of exact and sedulous deportment before the 
public and was much respected. 

He represented Brighton in the state legislature in 
1868 and 1876, and he applied his characteristic care and 
industry to the work of legislation. Every bill intro- 
duced and printed he kept in order and ready for immedi- 
ate reference, and he kept the run of the work in the House 
much better than the average legislator, and voted intelli- 
gently on every issue that was made. His judgment was 
always sound, and he was very firm in his convictions. 
He seldom addressed the House, but was influential 
among the members, and was always ready to vote on any 
measure, and had systematically formed opinions on what- 
ever was before the House. 

He was a member of the masonic lodge, and as Mas- 
ter in 1869-70 and again in 1882-3, and in whatever posi- 
tion he held in it, he did thorough, systematic work. 

He was much interested in the cause of education 
and did much to improve the condition of our schools, oc- 



214 

cupying different positions in the school system, includ- 
ing chairman of the board, and contributed good work to 
make the town system of schools popular. 

In March 1881 he united with the Methodist Episco- 
pal Church in this town. He was highly esteemed by 
the church for his loyalty to it and interest in its success. 

In his intercourse with others he was genial, friendly, 
kind and accommodating, generous to the poor and un- 
fortunate, and always conducted himself in the presence 
of his associates and acquaintances in a gentlemanly and 
dignified manner. 

Thus has passed away a kind husband, father and 
friend, and a man who has left in the memory of all the 
impress of a positive, thorough and efficient man in what- 
ever he undertook. 



FRANCES E. WILLAR.D. 

♦fTT is doubtful if a deeper or wider shadow ever fell 
■' upon this country and perhaps on the world, 
occasioned by the death of a woman, than the decease of 
Frances E. Willard has cast upon millions of hearts. In 
some of her attributes she seemed to stand alone. She 
differed in some features of her character from any other 
woman of her time. Other women may have been as 
amiable and as disinterested and as pure minded as she. 
But she had that heroic amiability and purity that in 
the minds of many distinguished her from all others. 
Whatever may be said of her ideas or methods, her repu- 
tation was as clear as crystal and her motives were so 
far beyond question that she came in the minds of mil- 
lions as near the supernatural as any human being could. 
She differed very widely from many of her sister temper- 
ance workers who compromised with other vices thinking 
thereby to get something in exchange that would be 

215 



2l6 

beneficial to the cause of temperance. She was compelled 
to exhibit some heroic characteristics in order to accom- 
plish her work. If her enthusiasm sometimes induced 
her to adopt extreme means and theories, notwithstanding 
that, her whole life was a benediction. At times she may 
have shown a masculine strength, but if .she had been less 
so, she would have been less efficient. Considering her 
line of action, she was not radical. She wanted woman 
suffrage, but she wanted that which would enable her sex 
to defend their homes, their honor, their children and 
families, and that would elevate her kind through such 
educational means as women could aid in bringing about. 

Caesar's wife is said to have been without suspicion. 
She was surrounded by all the barriers that wealth, power, 
and favorable court associations could furnish to shield 
her from even unfavorable comment. Miss Willardwent 
among all conditions, antagonizing the most vile and 
designing, now being among the lowly and inspiring the 
vilest with higher ideas, and again standing in the front 
rank of the foremost orators in all the world, comparing 
unfavorably with no one among them all, man or woman, 
and maintained a spotless reputation and her almost 
womanly instincts through all the varying scenes of her 
eventful life. 

Joan of Arc achieved a romantic and mysterious 
fame, stormed defences that the imbecile Charles quailed 
before, yet her designs and power were a marvel and a 
secret, and will remain so forever. Pluck not a laurel 



217 

from the brow of this strange woman. But Miss Willard, 
plain, domestic, bright, good-hearted and every day Miss 
Willard, grew up in a practical, sensible way, amid hun- 
dreds who were lamenting because women had no oppor- 
tunities, and began to work in such a modest, yet in- 
spiring manner, that she at last came to be the foremost 
woman in the land, if not in the world ; demonstrating 
that the world was full of opportunities for her sex, and 
at death leaving a vacancy, to fill which the proudest 
woman on earth could aspire. Hers was a brilliant fame. 
She gave to common things and common work such a 
fervor that her surroundings were filled with the romance 
of real life. With the tender instincts of a woman, moved 
by a noble energy that rises and executes, independent 
of sex, she has finished a wonderful career, and impressed 
on the world the highest type of pure, devoted and enthu- 
siastic American womanhood. 



MRS. ROBERT CHASE. 

^JM^RS. Susan a. H. (Davis) Chase, wlio died at Guild- 
&.IB«/ hall, was born at Pembroke, N. H.; and was mar- 
ried to Robert Chase July 1854. They came to Guildhall 
in 1865 and have resided there since. She was a member 
of the Congregational Church for more than 35 years 
and was connected with this church at Guildhall. A 
husband, son, brother and two sisters survive her. She 
is the first of a limited family to be taken away, and 
many circumstances conspire to make her absence in- 
tensely felt. 

Hearts are alwa3^s filled with tender sympathy by 
the consideration of the situation of a man who has allied 
himself to a life partner whose fidelity to him and to all 
her social duties has filled the full measure of his young 
and ardent hopes, and who suddenly loses the influences 
of her life. Especially is this so if the loss occurs after 
their lives have ripened into the full mental enjoyment 
of and dependence u]3on such conditions. At this time 
such general sadness and sympathy is intensified by the 
great loss to the world of a pure, contented, dutiful, capa- 
ble and Christian woman. 

218 



219 

How weak and unavailing is language in times like 
these ! And yet expressions of tender regard for the 
memory of the good and the true are sometimes becoming, 
and comforting to the living. It is well to evoke hope, 
courage and consolation from such conditions. How full 
every hour of sorrow and trouble is with compensations 
if they are sought and made available ! How grateful to 
kind nature or providence should a man be to whom they 
are always supplied ! Can this man look on the past and 
wish it had never been, that he had never met such a 
companion, that she had been longer kept in suffering, 
longer shut out fiom the rewards of a virtuous life, that 
she had possessed such attributes that she would have 
died unmourned, that she had not possessed such resig- 
nation and courage, and finally can he wish that the 
cheerful light of that life had not shone on a pathway 
in which the shadows have fallen as far or farther than 
they usually do in the lives of men and women, or that 
it might not still fall softly and gently where his foot- 
steps shall continue even to his own grave ? 

Words are unavailing, friendships are powerless, the 
external wealth and power of all the world have no effect. 
They are unheeded in such times as these. But down 
deep in the heart of every one has been kindly placed re- 
sources for consolation, of which the possessor is alone 
accurately conscious, sufiicient for the most trying hour. 
Let them be invoked in this instance. Let them now be 
invoked. 



JOHN REILLY. 

'^T^HE associations of all the men, women and children 
^*^ tliat ever were, or are, or will be, fade away before 
succeeding generations and are forgotten ; and tbe affec- 
tions among, and relations between individuals today will 
soon be to the coming multitudes as though they had 
never been. This is a fearful reflection unless properly 
applied. It may be indulged in only for some purposes. 
If used as a consolation for loss by death of friends, it 
will impress any philosophical mind with the utter inca- 
pacity of grief or any demonstration of it. The very 
thought of the impotency of tears will restrain them. Let 
it not be said that this is stoical. Persons of every de- 
gree of intellect and variety of sentiment are provided by 
nature with a kind of philosophy which is emotionless, 
and they always involuntarily avail themselves of it in 
times of sorrow and trouble. But let us be careful that 
this reasoning does not lead us to say that because our 

220 



221 

late friend was cut off in the midst of his humble life pur- 
poses, his work was unavailing, and that with others he 
will soon pass from the memory of men, for the danger- 
ous inference too naturally follows that there is no in- 
ducement to or reward for honest and manly contentions 
in life's battles. Such a use of the reflection would dis- 
courage mankind, and sink the glory of life, the light of 
the world, and the inspiring and enterprising energies of 
mankind, in a mass of inertia; and the great living, mov- 
ing mass would stop, while the dark world would be filled 
with the dead forms of men, women and children. All 
things should be considered in times of sorrow calmly 
and sometimes coldly ; but let reason be used for comfort, 
for encouragement, for kindness and cheerfulness, and to 
engender mutual confidence, hope and courage. Care 
should always be taken not to encourage repinings or any 
arraignment of providence or chance for the misfortunes 
that come upon us. Accidents are sad enough without 
adding to them fancied aggravations. What will it profit 
any living being to go back with our late friend, and to 
look on his fancied picture of a neat cottage home, a lit- 
tle well-tilled farm and weedless garden, watered by na- 
ture's pure fountains and shaded by trees of his own 
pruning, to which he could retire from the rough and 
toilsome life of a woodsman to quiet industry and nightly 
repose, and then to arraign that providence by which he 
was ground by cruel wheels just before he reached that 
ideal home ? How much we dream and little know what 



222 

miglit come of dreams if they became realities ! The 
best work the memory of individuals can do is to pre- 
serve and imitate their good qualities. 

Our late friend was unassuming, honest, faithful and 
true, both to his family and in his social and business re- 
lations. He was undemonstrative, but a very efficient 
and important factor in the business enterprises with 
which he was connected. He had no fractious impulses, 
no fawning fear, no envies or rivalries, which come so of- 
ten from extensive employment in large enterprises. He 
died without a single known enemy. He was honest, 
candid, and business like. He was even peculiar in one 
respect. In stating facts or business conditions he looked 
at the subject matter absolutely in the abstract and ap- 
parently free from personal considerations. This made 
him naturally and inoffensively independent, absolutely 
reliable, and gave him great influence in the work with 
which he was connected. His ideas and expressions of 
them were not polished or cultivated, but he had crude, 
broad and comprehensive conceptions of justice and truth, 
and of an accurate adjustment of things so as to have 
them right, and in them he was so quietly, inoffensively, 
and apparently unconsciousl}^ uncompromising that there 
could always be discovered in him the true elements of a 
man. He lived and died in as profound respect and ap- 
proval by local business and social sentiment as any man 
in his station of life who has ever lived and died among 
us. The circumstances of his death have deeply stirred 



223 

the hearts of the whole community. His death was sud- 
den, violent and sad ; but his sufferings were soon over. 
They are of no consequence now. They have gone into 
the past. His funeral was on the Sabbath. The neigh- 
bors said "This was his Sunday home." It was his Sun- 
day home. A home in which he will remain in quiet 
rest. If we weep for him we shed tears of gratitude for 
such an honest, truthful and industrious life, and such 
peaceful sleep. But for and with the living we do shed 
tears of sympathy and sorrow. It is unavoidable. The 
loss of a life companion, the father of a family of young 
and dependent ones just in the early development of 
numberless little family plans suddenly taken from their 
midst, stirs every heart with irresistible grief. But kind 
nature has an antidote for all that. The heart of a sor- 
rowful mother is soon absorbed in the care of and in the 
hopes and aspirations of her little ones. How soon even 
the deepest grief is assimilated and absorbed by new de- 
velopments and conditions ! While parents are unduly 
solicitous about the support and welfare of their children 
the latter are developing faculties almost beyond human 
comprehension. They knit so quickly into business en- 
terprises and life's relations as to substitute their own 
efforts and achievements for those of the parents, take up 
the work, assume their places, and almost as soon as 
spring comes and goes, the wounds of their young hearts 
are healed, and all the toils, anxieties, and afflictions are 
absorbed and lost in a new generation. 



CATHERINE (CONWAY) ELIE. 

XI FE has such sudden transformations that human 
beings often find themselves in as new conditions 
as though their identity were lost. Human life is am- 
bushed all along its journey. In the logic of our lives 
grief follows pleasure and tears refresh the heart. It had 
just been a summer time of luxury in nature, and men, 
women and children were filled with happy conditions. 
In infinite wisdom or, to say the least, in most kindly de- 
signing accident, the rains had fallen copiously, and the 
harvest fields and hearts and homes of men were yielding 
abundant happiness and joy. And, as if to meet the most 
extravagant wishes of the tillers of the land, the clouds 
rolled softly away and heaven smiled on the hay makers 
until the earth was almost parched. From plenty the 
merchant supplied frugal ueeds and comforts, the priest 
and pastor gave thanks, and the physician went on his 
way with only such occasional remedies as a healthful 

224 



225 

time requires. Even the ills of a far off war were scarcely- 
felt. Old men and women, tired by tlie accomplisliment 
of their own little ambitions, were warmed into new and 
secondary life by one, two and sometimes three gener- 
ations, warming, pushing, developing and expanding 
a fulsome life and demonstration, before which age dis- 
solves and passes on and into the extinguishment of in- 
dividual identity. Everybody was knit into sympathy 
with the times and conditions, and into most confident 
expectancy of life, but no one more than another. Many 
pairs communed in sacred union with two hearts as one, 
and which were filled with thoughts of growing infancy, 
and thrilled with the development of new beings whose 
young lives constantly refresh and inspire the old. Fami- 
lies and firesides, friends in pairs and groups, united 
hands and hearts and hopes as night gently fell on pleas- 
ant, happy homes in which the old soon went to sleep the 
sleep that's earned by honest toil, the younger ones to a 
sleep that's filled with strong and buoyant dreams, and 
the little ones to the sweet and innocent sleep of child- 
hood. But all went with dreams and hopes of reanima- 
tion, reunion and resumption on the morrow. 

But when the morning came with its scenery and 
figures, its hills, vallej'-s, and human forms, the din of 
life, glad and loving impulses, joyous greetings and re- 
unions, one there was who did not waken. Those lips 
which in life spoke no words but those of charity and 
kindness were silent. The still glowing light of the 



226 

morning rested gently on the motionless type of a life 
whicli suddenly went out just as its social and moral in- 
fluence was spreading and ripening in its surroundings. 
SHe went at midnight from a home guarded by every hope. 
The messenger met a sharp but brief resistance, in which 
the strength and skill of man was of no avail. Angels of 
mercy besought the messenger to spare her life, and in 
this behalf invoked her kindness, charity, goodness, be- 
nevolence, virtue, sacred motherly offices, and all the pa- 
tient virtues which adorned her home, and cheered and 
blessed the outer world. But when the morning came, 
she was gone from where a gloomy man sat embedded in 
the awful stillness, and children looked wonderingly 
each into the other's eyes as if awakening in dazed 
amazement from a dream in which the mother had van- 
ished as in a vision of the night. Except the household 
and hurried aids, all slept unconscious of the gloom that 
had fallen there at midnight. But in the morning, when 
it was told, a shadow fell on every heart and home. All 
quickly felt the sorrows of others, for they were much 
their own. But soon consoling memory recalled the good- 
ness in the home and church and social ways of the life 
that went out so quickly ; all recognized that this wa;s a 
calamity unmixed with remorse or bitter memories, and 
that this was not a separation worse than death's; but 
one that came in nature's own appointed way. 

When we think of the overwhelming conditions of 
one man, then of the post mortem messenger speeding on 



227 

his way to deal tlie father in the far west a blow which 
will fall the more heavily because delayed, we rejoice 
that nature has implanted in the soul of man that sublime 
courage and hope that enables him to rise out of a calam- 
ity, and to so rebuild that the reconstruction shall be made 
stronger by the memory of disaster ; and given him that 
cool, solid philosophy on which he can stand firm amid 
the ruin of all his earthly hopes, thus preventing his 
lying down in despair and dying like a beast, and caus- 
ing him to guard against cynicism until death brings 
him honorable discharge, and which enables him to 
surmount the ruin of even all his life plans, and still 
hope for a reality beyond, whether it will ever come or 
not. Let all find consolation in and gratitude for that 
hope that somewhere in the dim and distant future the 
rough, disjointed and broken conditions in life shall be 
adjusted and repaired, and for the hope (whether it be a 
reality or not) of a grand reunion and restoration of the 
individual identity of each. There is another hope; 
that of a finally happy disposition of all things. Men 
widely differ as to its nature and methods, but each is 
allied to those reverential conditions best adapted to his 
or her wants. To their hope and methods we reverently 
bow in respectful sympathy and personal sorrow, and 
leave our friends with tender commendation to the source 
of all earthly hope and consolation. 



T. HULL PAGE. 

'J^HE whole state, by which the Hon. Carroll S. Page 
^■^ is respected and to which he is endeared, deeply 
sympathize with him and his family in the loss of his son 
T. Hull Page, who died at Las Vegas, New Mexico, of 
consumption. 

When a man of intense conceptions, business and 
social zest, and energy for quick and hopeful accomplish- 
ment, and with correspondingly tender and deep affec- 
tions, sees the near fulfillment of his life purposes and 
ambitions and turning to his young succession, begins 
to live in his children ; and then sees one of talent and 
ability, fit to succeed to and perpetuate those hopes and 
ambitions, slowly fade and go out, — it moves to tender 
sympathy hearts most remote from the situation. 

It tempts one, even at the risk of being almost in- 
trusive in private sentiments, to express a gratitude that 
a kind providence which furnished courage and energy 

228 



229 

to create happy conditions, will also b}^ the great law of 
compensation continue those sublime and manly quali- 
ties in sustaining the man and also (what is equally im- 
portant) in enabling him to courageously sustain de- 
pendent ones. 



* "Light as a Glimpse They Ran Away." 

'^f^HERE is notHing in life more purely pleasant than 
^^ association with and the memory of children ; pure 
in thought, pure in motives and sentiments, and pure in 
life and in death. The bitterness of life with its enmities 
and contaminations has not entered into their hearts. 
They are the ornaments of society and the brightest 
lights in the home, shining clearer and brighter the 
darker and more rugged the conditions in which they 
are, like stars contrasted with adjacent and gloomy skies, 
or flowers growing in rough and unseemly places — 
choice delicacies of life ! Quiet, restful, sleeping little 
beings ! Even death is kind to them. It adorns them 
with a gentle grace and fills the space in which they lie 
with a sad, sweet memory. They have no responsibility, 
no sin, no remorse, no regrets, no envies and no chas- 
tisements. They are inferior to their Creator, nearly 
equal with angels, and far above the wicked kings of 

* Suggested by the death of Kathaleen Mackay and John F. Paquette. 

230 



231 

earth. They are all that is pure and good and kind and 
lovely, and nothing that is sour, morose or evil. And 
yet grief sometimes most unreasonably complains of the 
only conditions which could make them as they are. 
Adorn them with flowers. It is well. But use such orna- 
ments as types to cultivate in the hearts of the living 
the fairest, kindliest and tenderest sentiments of the 
mind, and as a consolation. Pour the most healing 
balm into hearts so deeply afflicted by the loss of the 
richest treasures that hearts can have. But do not let 
grief blind reason or vainly attempt to call back those lit- 
tle departed ones to a loss of their happy conditions, 
which all the kings of the earth could not purchase with 
the wealth of all the world. Look on the brighter side 
and see them going through the dark valley by the only 
sure pathway that leads to that sunlit clearing on the 
mountain which we see through the eye of hope. Neither 
art nor skill will ever unaided coin such choice and 
sacred words as these, "Suffer little children to come unto 
Me." 



WALTER G. VALLEE. 

T is the common experience of life that as men go on 
from design to design, planning for the future as 
though accomplishment would be certain, they are sud- 
denly interrupted by death. But seldom in the experi- 
ences of life do we find so many conditions, so ardently 
charged with interest and anticipation, and all contribut- 
ing to the shock occasioned by his death, as those about 
Walter G. Vallee, who died at the Stewart House on the 
13th of September, 1898. 

He was a young man in the intensest and most zest- 
ful time of life, a son of Gabriel C. and Stephanie Vallee, 
who in their declining years were looking with the full 
and anxious anticipations of parents on the life enter- 
prise of two of their boys. He was linked to a large pa- 
ternal and maternal family by numerous lines of filial 
and fraternal affection, and in a wide circle of friends his 
life was blended with others in warm, frank, open, gener- 

232 



233 

ous and genial intercourse. He was industrious, enter- 
prising, and willing to bear liis proportion of all the bur- 
dens to wliicli duty called bim. He was just wbat be ap- 
peared to be without false pretence or affectation. He 
was 37 years of age and had worked hard all his life. 
And what deepens the sadness of his death is that he was 
just in the midst of his liveliest plans and life purposes 
and almost in sight of the goal he was straining every 
nerve to reach. His purposes were intensified by the 
presence of wife, father, mother, brothers, sisters, and 
the whole community, all looking with anxiety to the 
progress of a work beneficial to all. Numberless circum- 
stances and conditions awakened in all a commendation 
of his courage in the affairs of life, which ended in his de- 
claring that further effort was useless and he must die. 
Just at the time in his life when his presence seemed to 
him and his friends most important, in the midst of the 
warmest and most pleasant social and business relations, 
and in the harmony of domestic felicity, he was suddenly 
called from a love born of womanly and the most lovable 
companionship, from the pleasant society of friends, and 
from the strong and interesting business relations of life, 
to be resolved into those elements which form the great 
and universal design. To die in the midst of so many 
purposes, conditions and designs in which our little com- 
munity is involved, and in which all were interested, 
could but awaken emotions of unusual sadness. The 
news of such a death creates a shock, recovering from 



234 

wliicli, all eyes are turned with tender sympathy to a 
stricken family, and especially do all look with pitying 
eyes on her who made her companion's hopes her own, 
and which seem to her to have died with him. 



DR. JOHN H. LINEMAN. 

HEN we look at the almost incompreliensible 
variety of structures, mental and physical, of 
which the human race is composed, we are astonished at 
the numberless and wide individual differences among 
them. And we marvel that out of those very differences 
comes such perfect adaptation and uniformity to society. 
Some are made of tough, hard material, with such strong 
motive power as not to be turned aside or entangled in 
any knot capable of solution or of being cut. If sur- 
rounded by strong deviators, or if they encounter obsta- 
cles, they have the directness and force to cut along the 
line marked by the designer. Others possess a finer 
mould and temper, keener, but more delicate and refined, 
with mental order, symmetry, incision, sharp penetration 
and nice systematic analysis ; but of such frail organism, 
especially in respect to physicial conditions, as to be in- 
sufficient to stand the strain of intense ambitious efforts 

235 



236 

to attain professional excellence and a liigH standard of 
citizenship. 

Our late lamented friend and townsman, Dr. John 
H. Linehan, more resembled the latter than the former. 
He was possessed of fine traits of character, and so sus- 
ceptible to the influences of education that they were 
early brought into correspondence with the art and science 
of his chosen profession. He early studied with intense 
and curious interest, made great proficiency as a student 
and graduated among the very first of his class from one 
of the highest medical institutions in the land. And, al- 
though he early mingled in public affairs, became a local 
party leader and won public confidence, he was wedded 
to the science of his profession. He procured the best 
books, surgical instruments and other facilities for his 
w^ork, and his skill was justly esteemed by the public. 
In many things he was too unselfish. He even lost sight 
of compensation for his services and was too sensitive to 
exact just returns for them. Besides he became at once 
the friend, companion and counsellor of his patient. Al- 
though his keen temper corresponded with his other 
qualities, never was a man more devoted to his friends, 
more generous, or free from malice. He leaves only pleas- 
ant and sympathetic personal associations, formed and 
dissolving as a dream. But such is life, formed in in- 
tense hope and ambition, then vanishing in weakness, 
dissolution and death. Many will miss 

"The touch of a vanished hand, 
And the sound of a voice that is still," 



237 

while the condition of one, a part of whose very self is 
gone, we can neither describe nor adequately appreciate. 
In such conditions the "silver cord is loosed," the fondest 
devotion is interrupted, the brightest hopes are blasted. 
But they are not made to be everlasting here. It cannot 
be otherwise. To expect it would only be arraigning the 
wisdom and goodness of creation. It is wise and better 
to apply the antidotes which kind nature has provided 
for the afflicted, and leave the deepest sorrows to the 
assuaging influences of time, assisted by resignation, 
hope, reason and courage. 



JUSTIN SMITH MORRILL. 

II^ROBABLY never before since tlie life of Vermont 
liy began has a deeper sadness fallen on lier people, 
and more nniversally, too, than rested down upon us all 
when the announcement was made that Senator Morrill 
was dead. Those who remember or observed the sad 
funeral cortege of Senator Collamer, the throbbing of so- 
cial centres when the stirring, striking and abundant yet 
pungent eloquence of Upham became silent, or when the 
brilliant, accomplished and elegant though somewhat 
aristocratic life of Phelps went out, can plainly see a dis- 
tinction between the grief occasioned by those events, as 
great as it was, and the present. When like events oc- 
curred in former times, they conceived sentiments and 
emotions of awe and mysterious greatness, and the 
grandeur of lives at a greater distance from the common 
people than are those of their leaders and representatives 
of the present day. In all times public leaders are apt 

238 



239 

to liave some striking traits, some distinct lines on wliicli 
their energies and accomplishments run withsucli inten- 
sity as to leave out or obliterate a variety of other quali- 
ties ; and many times such tendencies absorb or blunt 
sociability, humanity and benevolence. When such 
great and good men die there is always public grief. All 
men are sensible then of a great loss to the public, and 
mourn with profound and respectful sorrow the loss of 
eminent and useful elements from the moral and politi- 
cal forces in the State. But the loss of a man who car- 
ried for nearly half a century of public life all the desira- 
ble qualities of his nature through the most stormy cur- 
rents of a public career, including the ruffianly days of 
contention on the line between freedom and slavery, 
and the civil war, which took many statesmen off their 
feet, and rocked the republic as with the throes of an 
earthquake ; a man who during all the vicissitudes of a 
long and eventful career exercised towards all his people 
the most equable relations, constantly growing in their 
esteem, affection, (and it is no venture to say) love, — is 
not only a public loss, but an occasion for individual sor- 
row. There is not a spot in the state so obscure that its 
residents do not feel tbat an almost overwhelming calam- 
ity has come, and not a man of any consciousness of her 
affairs who does not feel a personal loss. The whole 
state is melted into a great family, silent, subdued and 
grief stricken. Hven fiery zeal and clamor for personal 
preferment stands awed for a moment before the proud 



340 

majesty of a sublime life and the abundant Harvest of the 
great reaper. 

Senator Morrill was not only a representative of a 
generation of bold, sturdy, generous and kindly men, 
nearly all of w^hom are gone, but he was one who by ac- 
cretion, continually took on and assimilated those young 
and changing sentiments which cheer and inspire public 
and private intercourse. Seldom was there ever such a 
young old man as he ; or one so suave in manners and 
methods, and yet so quietly effective in accomplishment. 
His taste sought rich, plain, substantial things. As a 
genial, industrious farmer, he steadily increased his store 
by his own production and development, without taking 
from others their just belongings. As a merchant, by 
thrift and honest ways, he did so extensive a business as 
to benefit the public by thriving on small profits. He 
entered public life modestly; indeed, unexpectedly, as it 
appears. He seemed to grow into it, or to come along 
as if in the natural order of things ; and he brought 
from as far back as anybody knows him, that peculiar 
faculty of putting himself in personal relations with 
every one he met. When he went to the little, lively, old 
Thetford Academy to lecture, about the time he was first 
eledled to Congress, each one of us — its students — felt 
personal relations to him ; and whenever he visited the 
legislature in after years it was the same. Envious as- 
pirants insinuated that he thus sought favor, and so he 
did, as good men seek rewards for virtuous actions, as 



241 

any prudent, faithful man familiarizes himself witli his 
clientage to know their views and wants in order to win 
their support and approval of his intelligent efforts in 
their behalf. He did cater to the farming class, not as a 
counterfeit presentment, but as one born among them, 
and willing and glad to counsel with them concerning 
their wishes and wants, and how he could best serve the 
interests of a class on whom the foundations of state pros- 
perity rested, as the fabled skies rested on the shoul- 
ders of the giants of old. And he never forgot them; 
not in the excitement of Kansas massacres, nor the 
storm of civil war, nor yet when he was the foremost 
workman in framing that masterpiece of tariff legislation 
which worthily bore his own honored name. And when the 
news of his death came through the valleys and among 
the mountains of his beloved state, like the sighing of 
the winds and the voice of its many waters, there was not 
a dwelling so remote or humble, containing an intelli- 
gent occupant, that was not filled with as sincere sorrow 
as was manifested by the sad pageantry of more preten- 
tious demonstrations beneath the dome of the Capitol at 
Washington, or at the capital of the state. 

If there ever was a suspicion that he was induced by 
shrewd designs, his own nature at once arose to vindicate 
itself, for he could no more present a haughty or fawn- 
ing attitude even to plebeians than an aristocrat could 
have kind, considerate intercourse with nice, clean, com- 
mon folks. He was incapable of intrigue or duplicity, 



242 

and if he "had ever attempted either, his frank and unre- 
strained intercourse with the people would have betrayed 
him. He had no need of political machinery. He was 
absolutely above temptation. If he exhibited good taste 
and judgment in sending documents to his constituents, 
even if he knew it would bind recipients to him more 
closely, it was commendable. Would that no other means 
of support than those he used were practiced ! He was a 
man of perfect poise, fine figure and great strength, 
physically and mentally. He was quietly humorous, yet 
capable of indulging in keen sarcasm, made more pun- 
gent by being masked under a pleasant exterior. He re- 
minded one of the descriptions which the books give us 
of the republican simplicity of Jefferson, and, like him, 
the crown jewel of all his qualities was his absolute inde- 
pendence, which he maintained to the end of his life. He 
lived right on the line between plenty and extravagance, 
and between satisfied desires and excess, just where the 
most good lies. Fortunate man ! He lived in the happiest 
land on earth and in its most halcyon days. He heard 
the voices of Clay and Webster proclaiming "Freedom, 
Unity and Constitutional Liberty." He was one of the 
saddest mourners at the grave of Clay, and among the 
first to rock the cradle of republicanism. He had no 
specialty. He was all in all, good everywhere, although 
in finance, architecture, learning and the educational 
interests of the country, he may have been somewhat 
specially prominent. He did efficient work in the ban- 



243 

ishment of the illegitimate twin barbarisms. He had an 
intense and universal appreciation of, and zest in, every- 
thing in and about his life. He loved his country, its 
mountains, valleys, lakes and rivers, its institutions, his 
family, constituents and friends ; and was in harmony 
with them all. 

Not only has a statesman, sage, and lover of wisdom 
and learning, gone, but one of whom it has been written : 
"It is the crowning glory of such a career that it is 
absolutely spotless. No act of dishonor or word of dis- 
courtesy was ever charged to him." Scarcely can this 
be said of mortals ; and yet the statement goes un- 
challenged. 

It is night now. The lamps are lit; and old men, 
strong men, tender wives and even children are reading 
sad lines, and between the lines ; and all anxiously hope 
that the sun which has set on such a good, kind, fruitful 
life, may rise on a fortunate succession. 



* ReiBecdosis on the Death of a 

^^ HE little girl was brouglit many miles to be laid 
^3/ down to rest among her kindred. There was a noise- 
less agitation when she arrived. She was placed in a 
still, cold room, and when her form was revealed her face 
wore the same sweet smile that had passed unmoved 
through the cold, heartless and curious passengers and 
loungers during that long, bitter journey. It seemed as 
though she ought to be placed in a warm and cheerful 
room. But she was not cold or lonesome. She was not 
alone. She had joined and was with the millions of oth- 
ers who would have filled the world if they had not gone 
on to join the countlfess throng of "such as is the king- 
dom of heaven." She was the only composed and self- 
possessed one in the little group, calm, placid, still and 
immovable. The mourner's breath could scarcely move 
the lightest curl in her abundant tresses. She possessed 
that matchless form and type half baby and half girl- 

* A daughter of Mr. and JNlrs. C. J. Lefebvre. 
244 



245 

hood, whicli is not confined to wealth or station but 
which nature bestows wherever she will, among the hum- 
ble as well as elsewhere. To see such form, and then to 
see even death add new lines of beauty to its features, 
and then to think that the form itself is all unconscious 
of its graces, adds touches that life does not possess and 
art can never imitate. If I can avoid it, I will not look 
on the faces of the dead ; and yet death sometimes hangs 
pleasant pictures on memories walls. Why does a father 
weep to look on his girl, pure and beautiful in death, be- 
yond the reach of scorn, or pride, and in happy condi- 
tions even beyond the reach of the most queenly of earth 
unless attained almost always by some kind of absolu- 
tion ? All emotions serve a wise purpose. Grief for one 
is a type of sorrow for the many. Each mourns the loss 
of a different name, but all grieve for the loss of a com- 
mon childhood, and many and many an act of sympathy 
and kindness has been performed because the actors were 
moved by their own misfortunes and necessities ; but not- 
withstanding all that, if the father going through drift- 
ing snows to the tomb, the half unconscious boy who is 
with him, and the tender wife and mother sitting in her 
desolate home, looked on this picture as it is, they would 
weep no more. It is not good nor right to grieve for the 
loss of those whom the mourners themselves would not 
dare recall. 



CHARLES GREEN. 

HARLES Green died at his home in Canaan April 
20th, 1899, after a long decline. He was born in 
Randolph, Vt., January 16, 1822. On the 5th day of 
November 1844 he married at Montpelier Eliza A. Brooks, 
and in October 1864 he moved from Warren to Canaan. 
His widow, six sons and three daughters, survive him. 
One daughter died in infancy. For 43 years last before 
Mr. Green died there had been no death in the family. 
The six sons and three daughters attended the funeral, 
which occurred on the 22nd, the sons acting as bearers. 

His stirring, aggressive nature placed Mr. Green 
among the leaders in all local matters. He represented 
the town of Canaan in the State Legislature of 1882, and 
besides having other public positions, his individuality 
was always felt in all local interests. 

His sons are the well known Green family of Canaan, 
who are among the most respectable and enterprising 

246 



247 

men in the county, and one, Ciiarles H, Green, is a skill- 
ful timber estimator and lumberman, and Has for a long 
time been conne6led with the famous Russell Paper Co. 

Charles Green moved from Bethel to Warren, Vt., 
October 26, 1848, and at once entered with great zest into 
the enterprises of Mad River Valley. He at once found 
warm places in the hearts of such men as Judge Wright 
of Warren, and by his energy and push commanded all 
the capital he required. For years he did a various and 
extensive business, principally, however, in manufactur- 
ing and transporting lumber down Mad River Valley to 
Middlesex by teams. Figured on a basis which had 
been, it was a paying business, but conditions soon 
changed, competition grew sharp and railroad facilities 
increased. His lumber had to be drawn 20 miles or more 
by teams and the business proved a failure. Mr. Green 
then went to Canaan, carrying with him the unimpaired 
confidence of those who had furnished him capital and 
who had not been injured by his connection with them. 
He went to Canaan in the last of the fifties. Although 
he there soon became absorbed in the life plans of his 
children, he never, till sickness and the infirmities of age 
compelled, ceased to be busy in his own affairs. 

He was a man of very marked characteristics ; strong 
in friendship, and lasting and reliable in his enmities, 
(and who is not whose faculties are not neutralized and 
insipid ?) and unselfish beyond the bounds of prudence. 

As sheriff and deputy sheriff and in other business 



248 

lie liad occasion to mingle much with the people of the 
county, and the lively, cheerful, and almost boisterous 
Charles Green always met a hearty welcome wherever he 
went. What he said was so ! and that characteristic was 
manifest. Judge Barrett once remarked of him : "That 
witness tells the truth. His assertions have a fixedness 
and consistency which carry conviction." He was an 
emergency man wherever he was. His generous impul- 
ses were ever saying: "If anything is wanting I am 
here." The most timid never shrank from approaching 
him in trouble and were always welcome. He was a brave, 
stirring, aggressive, restless, impulsive, passionate man, 
and yet completely tender and considerate to the helpless, 
wronged or unfortunate. His devotion to his family 
was unbounded. I never saw before him so deep and 
anxious solicitude for an offspring and so tender memory 
of another little one, whose angel visits he could scarcely 
persuade himself were not real, as he exhibited. 

How much there is in any life extending over the 
greater part of a century ! How much of hope and suc- 
cess, of joy and exultation ! How much of failure, de- 
pression, sadness and despair ! How much of good and 
bad, of noble impulses and high resolves ! What a suc- 
cession of sudden and unexpected impulses driving a man 
against his will into devious ways ! How many days 
filled with contending emotions, passions, struggles, 
friendships, loves, gratitude, benevolence, fidelity and 
their opposites ! All these things filled the life of our 



249 

late friend with amplitude and intensity. He met a 
change at every kaleidoscopic turn. 

But after all the storms of life he landed where the 
sun was shining clear. Through all the voyage the 
mate was constant by his side, cheering, counseling, aid- 
ing, comforting and gently chiding. He had won and 
preserved until death, a devotion more desirable than all 
the wealth of all the world. He had come to live a little 
while in prosperous conditions which were not and yet 
which had become all his own. 

How much of good in men, and happiness and com- 
pensation in life, may be seen if one is near enough to 
see in them what a far off stranger is unable to discern ! 



"^ Little Shadows in Life. 

Ji|^ AN does not live alone. Life is full of tones, syni- 
LntJ phonies, elegies, relations, ties and connections 
reticulating through what is called society. The world 
is full of the music of life composing a vast orchestral 
combination, with strings and notes varying from the 
most lugubrious to the highest most cheerful and enliven- 
ing. When the heavy bass is broken the foundation jars, 
but when the slightest chord is severed a sharp painful 
sensation is produced by the piercing discord. 

When a strong man dies a great void occurs. His 
memory goes away with a heavy strength and dissolving 
sound which does not pierce the hearts of survivors with 
intense acuteness. But when a child dies there is a cir- 
cumscribed stinging sensation which does not expand 
as when a man dies, but is all the more keen in the 
little circle, because limited. If the child dies even be- 
fore external associations are formed, the internal ones 
* Reflections caused by the death of the little daughter of Mr. 
and Mrs. J. D. Bates. 

350 



251 

growing out of it are the choicest and tenderest. They 
become a part of the most exquisite of paternal and ma- 
ternal associations and hopes coming out of the charmed 
mysteries of the great unknown. It is the keenest sor- 
row because borne in silence and almost alone. 

If the child lives a little while it climbs up, grows on 
to and knits into the affections of all who possess natural 
affections, and when torn away from us we weep for the 
loss of so much of the young and beautiful succession of 
human life. This we know is but an expression of com- 
mon grief. It defies comparison with that of those on 
whom it falls heaviest. But it can and does go down, as 
we all do now in sorrow and sympathy for them, to tell 
them more calmly than deeper sufferers can think it, that 
death is great nature, working in mysterious ways, 
bringing to us and leaving in our pathways memories of 
the saddest but sweetest elements in human life. 



ELMER. H. CHEVALIER. 

HK troop ship Hancock which sailed from San Fran- 
cisco April i8, arrived at Manila last week, and on 
the arrival of the vessel General Otis sent the following 
dispatch : 

MANILA, May 11. 
Adjutant Genehal, Washington : 

Health condition troops arrived on Hancock excellent ; two deaths en- 
route, Private E. Jones and Elmer H. Chevalier, companies L and E, 21st 
infantry, April 24 and 25. OTIS. 

This dispatch occasions the deepest grief in onr com- 
mnnity. Young Chevalier was born in this town, and 
passed his early boyhood days here. He was a son of 
her who was formerly Miss Ada, a daughter of G. G. 
Waterhouse. The father of Elmer H. was C. N. Cheval- 
ier, whom our people will remember as an efficient and 
very successful railway superintendent. All the family 
from the grandfather down were highly esteemed by our 
people, and no conditions could exist in which a death 
could occasion a deeper and more universal sorrow in our 

252 



253 

community than this one. The father and the second 
eldest son, Ted, were called to a railroad enterprise in 
Nicaragua, the ability of the former as a railroad man 
having attracted attention, and while there the son died. 
On account of the warlike disturbances existing there 
the father came north and took charge of the Ogdens- 
burg and Lake Champlain Railroad, with headquarters 
at Ogdensburg, and successfully managed it. The patri- 
otic young Elmer true to the instincts of his family, and 
moved by a strong military ambition, started for the front, 
and was taken down with typhoid fever and sent home. 
Recovering he again started for the front, and as may be 
seen, died, and was buried at sea. We hear nothing but 
continual expressions of sorrow and sympathy for the 
father and the heroic mother, who have stood up so bravely 
and are now, with such fortitude, enduring the situation 
of having one son buried in a foreign land and another 
at sea. 



MRS. STEPHEN MARONEY. 

♦fTN the deatli of Mrs. Maroney our community loses a 
■'' woman whose life corresponded with a large class 
in a general way, and yet a woman possessed of many 
distinguishing traits of character. Mrs. Johanna (Mc- 
Mahon) Maroney was born in the County of Clare, Ire- 
land, December 25, 1837, and died at her home in Island 
Pond, July 7, 1899. She was married forty-four years 
since to Stephen Maroney, and they have ever since lived 
together in perfect harmony and fidelity. 

Say what we will, and believe what we may concern- 
ing human lives and individual destinies, when we see in 
our minds the pictures of two Irish emigrants, and fol- 
low in imagination their voyage across the waters, realize 
the deep marital affection, the paternal devotion which 
the condition of their country at the time we have in 
mind and the natural tenderness and cheerfulness of the 
Irish natures engender; when we see two such lives grow- 

254 



255 

ing into each other and into a common faith and absorb- 
ing their whole being, admitting no thought into the in- 
ner temple of their lives except what is born of them- 
selves, working with no envy or malice, and with cheer- 
fulness and good will towards all around them, and thus 
growing into a feeling of security in their faith and in 
the tender affection of themselves and a growing infancy, 
and into the delusion that if industry, frugality and de- 
votion to God and each other continued, those conditions 
would forever last, — to see all this, and the contentment 
with which such conditions fill almost half a century, 
almost excites envy in the mind of an observer. No 
fancy can picture a condition of happiness preferable to 
the simple grandeur of such real, hearty, zestful lives. 
Of course this makes the interruption the more grievous 
and sad, but happiness and family unity and affection, 
which often flourish most luxuriantly in the home of the 
emigrant, and even in that of the exile, should not cease 
to be sought and cultivated because they are perishable 
like all things else in this world. But there is always 
some great cause for the continuance of those happy fam- 
ily conditions, and the woman who possesses, with pa- 
tience, devotion, discretion and self-sacrifice sufficient to 
maintain happy conditions through a long term of years, 
has performed a task that never was excelled by the 
greatest and most queenly woman on earth. This was 
what this good, quiet, industrious woman did in bringing 
up a family of eleven children, eight of whom survive. 



256 

She was one of a class of women who absolutely deny 
themselves and devote their lives to others, and pass 
years and years along their still and patient way almost 
unobserved by the common world. If it is a quiet and 
almost unknown satisfaction, how happy must her chil- 
dren be in the reflection that all who knew her work 
praise it, and condemn neither her nor her precious 
memory in anything. A model, long continued, united 
and faithful specimen of family relations, the most sacred 
institution in the world, and the most perfect and pure 
among the middle class, has been sadly broken by death. 
May the distracted husband, father, and the children 
cherish the memory of a kind, good wife and mother, hope 
for the best in the future, and thank God for what has 
been. 



JOHN TUCKER THURSTON. 

iJlOHN Tucker Thurston was a son of Samuel and 
vT Mary (Tucker) Thurston of Portland, Me. ; born 
there January 4, 1833. He married September 2, 
1855, Mary Ann Strong, born October 14, 1832, a 
daughter of Daniel and Jane (Warwick) Strong of Port- 
land. Four children blessed their union : John Warren, 
born in Portland November 10, 1859 ; Frank Melvin, 
born in Island Pond October 28, 1862 ; Charles Dyer, 
born in Island Pond January 28, 1866; Jennie Isabelle, 
born in Island Pond July 7, 1872, died February 27, 1876. 

From an authentic historical genealogy of John 
Tucker's ancestors, Daniel, from whom the former is 
the seventh remove, came to this country as early as 
1638, presumably from Kent or Essex County. His 
histor}'- seems to be connected with that of Colchester 
Castle. 

In John T.'s boyhood he was in the revenue service 

257 



258 

three years, on board the revenue cutter Morris, Captain 
Green Walden. While cruising in the Gulf of Mexico, 
during the Mexican war, they experienced a hurricane 
October ii, 1847, in the harbor of Key West, Fla., which 
wrecked the vessel, and the seamen went into the sol- 
diers' barracks, where they stayed six months. January 
3, 1850, he sailed from Portland for Cuba in the brig G. 
W. Knights, Capt. Joseph Munroe. The next day, his 
birthda}^, the vessel capsized, and all came near freezing 
to death, but were taken off from the wreck by Captain 
Colby of the schooner Pilot of Gloucester, Mass., all mora 
or less frost-bitten. 

June 2, 1853, he entered the employ of the Grand 
Trunk Railway Co., serving four years as fireman, and 
was then promoted to engineer, holding that position un- 
til February 1898. He moved his family to Island Pond 
in i860, the year following he built the house which has 
since been his home, and where he died September 30, 
1899. 

Constantly running on so extensive a line as that of 
the Grand Trunk for nearly a half century, John T. 
naturally experienced many changes in railroading, and 
met a great variety of people and conditions. He ran a 
passenger train from February 1873 to February 1898, 
twenty-five years uninterruptedly, — a remarkable record. 
He received from the shops an engine which he ran for 
twenty-two years and until he finished his work, an ex- 
perience probably not had by au}^ other man on the rail- 



259 

road. He ran the last engine on the broad gauge, the 
rails being changed behind him, and the first on the nar- 
row. He used the first coal burner, also the first exten- 
sion smoke box on the Portland district. His work and 
running was uninterrupted by sickness or other cause, 
save once when he met with an accident in the Gorham 
engine house which incapacitated him for labor for some 
months, making the mileage he accomplished remarkably- 
large, and forty-three years of it without a single acci- 
dent in any way imputable to his work. So trusty, and 
familiar with the whole road was he, that he was often 
sent to take engines to various points from Portland to 
Sarnia on the road. 

He is sleeping now ! the sleep that knows no wak- 
ing in this world, amid memories and associations as 
long, as interesting, and as harmonious as good fortune 
ever brought to the life of any man who ever lived and 
died among us. 

At an early age, probably before he was fifteen years 
old, he entered the naval service in the Mexican War. 
He was one of those men, or more correctly speaking, a 
boy among those men, who exercised so much braverj'- 
and fortitude in almost absolute obscurity. He was one 
of the last survivors of those who went down to the sea 
in ships and in most perilous conditions. They had no 
floating forts, walled or fortified cities, moving on the 
waters as if by magic, and in which men with every con- 
ceivable facility could go into an encounter on the full 



26o 

tide of health, vigor, and enthusiasm, in full view of the 
whole world, and with their future lit by a blaze of glory. 
They did not indulge in engagements almost as though 
they were mere pastimes which could be interrupted for 
refreshments, but they met the storms of nature and the 
perils of war with their own hardy natures in unsea- 
worthy vessels, meanly equipped, and under inefficient 
naval or army regulations. The same courage, the same 
patriotism, and the same devotion to country have been 
exhibited in the former as in the latter conditions. But 
in one case they were exhibited before the eyes of all 
the world, and in the other those qualities were exercised 
along obscure shores, in unseen bays and gulfs, and hid- 
den from sight by furious ocean storms. The valor of 
those days of courage on the seas in the Mexican War, 
when it was possible for a commander (who refused to 
order his men aboard, and whose men were sacrificed) to 
be court-martialed will never be fully told. Our friend 
was a part of all that untold heroism, and one of those 
brave tars whose hearts were so full of the romance of 
the sea and the pride of conquest. The object of that 
war is as immaterial in considering the high character 
of those remarkable men, as it is in contemplating the 
glorious achievements of men whose renown is now fill- 
ing the world with a blaze of glory ; and their services 
are just as dear, valuable and revered in all true Ameri- 
can hearts as they would be if their memories were being 
more ostensibly crowned with the laurels of immortality. 



26l 

Man can have no greater glory than to devote his fresh 
and early years to the service of his country, binding 
himself to it by privations and sufferings, at the peril of 
his life, then going free from the blandishments of ambi- 
tion, or selfishness of plunder, to the development of the 
interests of peace, the creation and support of a virtuous 
home and into the quiet, peaceful and hopeful reflections 
of his Church, and to a quiet death through which he 
passes from the world, leaving no just cause for offence 
from any man. 

When the services of our late friend, soldier, sailor 
and patriot were no longer required in defence of his 
country, he turned with zeal and earnestness into one of 
its greatest peaceful enterprises in a manner that for 
length of service, patient and persistent devotion, and 
honest industry and purpose, is unexcelled probably by 
the history of any of his associates. He began with the 
Grand Trunk Railway enterprise in its infancy, grew 
into and became a part of its progress and a member of 
the great railway family. He affiliated himself with its 
organized and personal associations until it absorbed all 
his business life. He became recognized as one of its 
faithful and most trusty employees. His genial senti- 
ments, graphic, and original expressions and declara- 
tions, made him in a social point of view prominent all 
along the line of the road. He was far from indifference, 
or insipidity, but his frank, abrupt, practical and effi- 
cient ways and sayings did not create enmities. His 



362 

deep seated and uncompromising convictions in reference 
to public affairs, political and otherwise, were respected 
even by those who differed from him, because of his con- 
sistency and fidelity to them. Fortunate in the forma- 
tion of his domestic relations, the united economy, indus- 
try and devotion of two beings made, warmed, cheered 
and beatified that place, the designation of which requires 
the sweetest word in our language — home. 

In the world he leaned on no man's bounty. In the 
country he had fought for individual freedom and he 
freely exercised it, but with equal regard for others. 
Towards his friends his heart was warm and his charity 
large. Every aid within his means was at their com- 
mand in time of need. In his Church his faith was as 
fixed as were his other rocky convictions. His vindica- 
tion of her was uncompromising, and his efforts and 
solicitations in her behalf were sincere and earnest. In 
his masonic and other brotherhood relations, he was true 
to the utmost limits of sacrifice ; tender, fraternal and dis- 
creet, yet just, even to censure, if the latter was required. 
In his home his sentiments were boundless and his efforts 
measured only by his capacity ; and when the circle was 
broken and a tender link gone from the golden chain, 
his restless yearnings did not stop short of every means 
in human reach to furnish substitution by adoption. 

He has gone ! and the world seems emptier now. 
We look with grief and awe upon the places in which we 
saw him walking or sitting in the yesterday of our lives. 



263 

But we do him wrong to grieve for the time and manner 
of his going. His work was done ; well done. His time 
was up. He went just in season to escape the vexations, 
cares and nervous fancies with which sensitive and jeal- 
ous age inflicts old men. He went quietly into an un- 
conscious freedom from the pains and sufferings of death. 
He was not compelled to stand very long and gaze almost 
alone upon the seeming nothingness that filled the places 
where once thronged a multitude of associates who in 
life's glad time never thought of death, thus lessening in 
that false and fancied nothingness, faith and hope that 
life was, is, and shall be, yesterday, today, and on some 
morrow that shall be. 

There is a place of aching silence in the thoughts of 
each loving friend for her whose heart beat, responsive to 
its other self, so long a time, ever growing more united 
and dependent in declining years, then almost stopped 
with its dead counterpart in the dissolving unison of two 
lives. In that widowhood which so suddenly succeeds 
harmonious years she is all alone, for it is filled with that 
peculiar sorrow which no one save she can know. But 
as light is most cheery in the deepest darkness so quickly 
comes the glad thought that the remainder of her way 
leads along hard by the paths in which her strong willing 
and affectionate sons and daughters are going. Thank 
God that so much sorrow is tempered and soothed by con- 
ditions growing out of those harmonious domestic relations 
in which men so often live and die ! 



LAURA (REED) DAVIS. 

Jn^RS. Davis was born in Woodstock, Vt., July 12, 
JLIH%/ 1810, and died at Island Pond at the residence of 
her son M. C. Davis, March 6, 1900. She was the wife 
of Samuel Davis who died at Charleston June 28, 1888, 
in his 78th year. They were married at Elmore, Vt., in 
1833 and moved to Charleston in 1848 with seven chil- 
dren, all boys. M. C. Davis was the eldest- and B. F. 
Davis the youngest ; the former at that time twelve years 
of age, the latter five months. The wife and mother was 
then a very feeble woman. There were at that time over 
forty heads of families in the school district into which 
they came, all of whom have been dead about ten years 
except Horace Kathan, who died some five years since. 
There was no disease upon Mrs. Davis. She was pros- 
trated but a few days before her death, and was troubled 
with nothing but a difiiculty about breathing. Her 
breath gradually diminished until the long-worn system 

264 



265 

ceased to move with life or breatli. Always a deeply re- 
ligious woman and conscious to the last, her departure 
was but a continuation of the consistencies of her life. 

The forty or fifty families among whom she and her 
husband cast their lot a little more than half a century 
since were composed of characteristic people. Brave, 
hardy, industrious and frugal men, solid and fixed in 
probity, with economical, devoted and reverential women, 
composed that group of good, solid, unpretending, 
healthy, happy and social men and women. The subject 
of this sketch survived them all for five or more years, 
going entirely alone in respect to them during that period. 
Of all the companions of her earlj^ life there is left only 
one, a brother ninety-two years of age, who is a very 
highly respected citizen of Sacramento, Cal., and with 
whom she corresponded until within a few weeks of her 
death. 

The going of a human being all through the appar- 
ent designs of creation, fulfilling his or her complete des- 
tiny, with a physical system free from abuse and contagion 
with disease, and its going on and on until worn and 
weary it stops from mere attrition, is the complete fulfill- 
ment of all hope and design in any life. Longevity is 
creditable. It is honorable, because it depends on indus- 
try, care, good common sense, regularity of life, and free- 
dom from sour, envious, selfish or fretful tendencies. It 
is usually accompanied by a cheerful, benevolent yet 
prudent and economical country life. Ninety or one 



266 

hundred years ago men and women had as now ample op- 
portunities to protect and govern themselves and to feed 
on and drink of such substances as would lay the foun- 
dation of hardy, robust constitutions, with rounded forms 
and healthful features. Light, cheerful and inspiring 
presence comes from healthy physiques. The subject of 
this sketch was thus blessed. She took a generous and 
lively interest in all around her. She, like her neigh- 
bors with their families, was warmed by clothing and 
comforts produced with her own hands, and her heart 
was warmed with pleasure when a neighbor had some- 
thing better than she had. 

Ninety years is a long time to be so useful and busy 
on this earth. But her long walk is ended; she grew 
weary and worn and sank to rest. Five years she had 
traveled since the last of her old neighbors had retired. 
She had walked to a bright light shining in the comfort- 
able cottage of a son and daughter-in-law, whose devo- 
tion to her furnished forth all that age required or feeble- 
ness craved. Her children and her neighbors loved and 
honored her, but would not if they could call her back 
from her peaceful rest in that land to which all her old 
neighbors and friends departed years ago. 



<l 





^^r^^. 



v^-7<>^-CC-x^ 



WM. M. CURRIER. 

TlYTl ^' ^' C^^^^i^i'j son of Amos and Lucinda Williams 
^■'^^ Currier, was born in Brighton December i8, 1832. 
April 16, 1861, lie enlisted in Co. D., 3d Vt. Vols., and 
was made sergeant. September 26, 1862, he was promo- 
ted to second lieutenant of Co. B., and September 2, 1863, 
he was advanced to first lieutenant of Co., G., and was 
afterwards acting captain. He was mustered out of ser- 
vice July 27, 1864. After his return from the war he 
constantly held local offices in town and was deputy 
collector of customs for 15 years. He was married to 
Sarah Smith, of Wilmot, N. H., July 6, 1861. A daughter, 
Alice, (Willoughby) was born October 30, 1864, and a 
son, William Lester, was born December 4, 1872. Capt. 
Currier was the first male child born in this town after it 
bore the name of Brighton. He was the first enlisted 
soldier in the civil war from this town, and the first re- 
publican representative from this town in the Vermont 

267 



268 

legislature. He was a member of Island Pond Lodge, F. 
& A. M., a past master of the lodge, was also prominent 
in Grand Army circles, and a past commander of Brastus 
Buck Post. He united witli the Congregational Church 
in 1886, and at the time of his death, which occurred 
March 31,1900, he was a deacon of the church, a posi- 
tion held by him for several years. He was a member of 
one of the oldest and most characteristic families in this 
town. He married a woman like him in hospitality and 
in doing for others, and neither of them stopped short of 
impossibilities in their attempts to relieve the suffering 
and unfortunate. 

The subject of this sketch was in harmony with his 
surroundings, although his life was eventful in spite of 
his disposition. What awaited him seemingly through 
long years looks now like the dream of a night. The 
hopes of boyhood and youth, the reality of life, the for- 
mation and harmony of domestic joys, happily accepted 
as though they were to be everlasting, the enthusiastic 
e^aperience of war, the return and mingling in busy, 
peaceful pursuits, are all gone now ; or rather are all 
merged into the tender memories of a virtuous, peaceful 
life, and a rich military history; all of which may be 
truthfully summed up by saying, "he was brave and gen- 
erous and kind and good." 

Born in an incipient town or community, amid the 
undeveloped influences and elements of New England, 
and impressed through infancy and boyhood by the fer- 



269 

vid memories of the revolution, whicli were being repeated 
by the fathers, and, intensified by imagination and ex- 
aggeration, he was deeply impressed with the duties of 
citizenship. As firmly as the hills of his nativity were 
fixed in the rugged soil of his country, and the roots of 
the forest were woven into it, so firmly was he fixed in 
sentiment in the great American community, and every 
element of his soul was woven into it. Necessity de- 
veloped his youth in the stern activities of life and he 
early took on a driving activity and responsibilities com- 
mensurate with his capacity. Connected with a large 
family, noted for the probity of its members, who 
possessed rugged New England manners, customs and 
sentiments, he was early enlisted in, and absorbed by, 
active business. At the same time, underneath all his 
absorbing employments, he early developed and con- 
stantly exhibited a deep reverence for Deity and a devo- 
tion to those grand sentiments which cement and make 
society strong and good. He was virtuously conserva- 
tive in all his sentiments. By impulse, instinct and rea- 
son, he was always on the side of law, order and morality. 
The eventful year of 1861 found him by training, 
habits, tastes and inclinations, fitted for the peaceful, in- 
dustrious and contented life of a New England yeoman. 
It also found in him sentiments of devotion to country, 
patriotism, faith in God, and the unity of the loftiest and 
most generous qualities and efforts of men for the com- 
mon good, as well as many other ingrained attributes so 



270 

essential to the development of a brave soldier. And so 
lie was stirred to life by tlie first sounds of war as if he 
had been hibernating and was being warmed to life by 
new and springlike influences. 

Coming in contact at this time with Brastus Buck, 
who was afterwards distinguished as the brave captain, 
the two became one in sentiment and purpose. As twin 
sons of Mars suddenly born into new and warlike condi- 
tions, they soon became the local personification of the 
warlike enthusiasm of a time filled with fear, anxiety and 
passionate devotion. But Capt. Currier had no time to 
waste in home enthusiasm, and he was speedily off to the 
front, where he was soon heard from in that famous 
charge at Lee's Mills, in which the brave boys waded 
breast deep in the rushing waters which had been let 
loose upon them, reaching up to carry their guns to keep 
them dry and fit for action. Coming to the opposite 
shore they drove a vastly superior force in numbers 
from their defences by the most daring acts of bravery 
and by leaping upon their breastworks and calling for 
the reserve. But when the enemy saw the ruse and that 
there was no reserve, and also that they were assailed by 
only a handful of men, they returned, and when our boys 
were retiring back across the river, the enemy, secure in 
their entrenchment, poured a shower of lead upon them 
which made the water fairly boil. This was not the 
worst of the captain's experience, nor yet were the many 
other perils and fortunes which he encountered actively. 



271 

The sacrifice of his life began when unable to reach the 
shore opposite the enemy he and a comrade were obliged 
to seek shelter in the water by and partly under the roots 
of a tree where, submerged, and holding on to what they 
could catch hold of, with just enough of the face above 
the water to enable them to breathe, the}'- remained 
watching the slow going down of the sun until under the 
shadows of evening they could crawl out and get within 
the lines. Like others from this locality he was in the 
thick of the fighting, being in more than twelve engage- 
ments, until broken in health and crazed with fever, he 
found himself in a hospital from which with great diffi- 
culty he got back to Vermont and plodded his weary way 
into his home never to be a well man again. Many years 
he struggled along concealing his sufferings, cheerfully 
performing the duties of civil life, public and private, (for 
he was much entrusted with public positions), never com- 
plaining, being constantly reduced, to the end. With a 
brave and self-sacrificing life companion, forming a com- 
radery more sacred than army ties, he and she held their 
little fort besieged by sickness and other untoward events, 
and fully maintained its substance and respectability, 
till his final surrender. 

Notwithstanding the intense desire of mortals to 
foresee the events in their lives, it is one of the best and 
wisest things in creation that they are concealed, and 
that the veil that hides the future from us cannot be 
lifted until they occur. Thus the ardor of the soldier is 



272 

not dampened by looking beyond anticipations of the 
glory of bis country and his own achievements, upon 
that still, monotonous, toilsome decline, down which he 
often wearily travels with increasing sickness and suffer- 
ing to the end. But let us not forget life's compensations, 
for therein lies human happiness. The captain was full 
of rejoicings at his country's great victory and its subse- 
quent prosperity. It more than balanced his sufferings. 
A natural reticence and quiet pride made him reluc- 
tant to apply for a pension, but when completely dis- 
abled, he did so at the earnest solicitation of his friends 
who did all in their power to hurry the matter along, but 
only after a year's delay, and on the very day and just a 
few hours before the captain died, the papers came show- 
ing that the pension had been granted. It was sad in- 
deed to see a brave man, all warm and ardent in the joys 
of peaceful life, going, induced by duty, through the 
thick of a soldier's experience, long restrained by pride 
and patriotism from applying for a pension, and then to 
see a whole community waiting with breathless anxiety 
for what they knew was soon to happen, and not be able 
to lift a hand in aid, and a country as indifferent to and 
perhaps unconscious of his situation as if he had not 
perilled his life for it. But to time, the brave captain, 
and to the sublime heroism of life, all those things are 
immaterial now. They only add a sadder interest and a 
deeper respe^l and love for the brave and generous, 
though peaceful soldier, the sincere Christian, the honest 



273 

and trusted citizen, the true and unfaltering friend and 
brother, and the affedlionate and indulgent husband and 
father, whose influence will never end, and whose mem- 
ory will last as long as the stirring events through 
which he lived shall be rehearsed in story and in song. 



MOODY. 

♦fTN fhe taking off of this great evangelist the world 
" loses as much religious substance and steady, con- 
sistent impulse as it ever lost by the death of a single 
man since the martyrdom of the Sublime One who is 
over all. 

And now that Moody is dead there is much specula- 
tion as to what was the secret of his success. His humil- 
ity repelled the idea that it was imputable to his skill, 
genius or designs. He chose to have it considered attri- 
butable to the power of his cause. But everybody knows 
that character, methods and certain subtle means accom- 
pany every man who moves the masses. Whitefield, 
Lorenzo Dow, and Moody, each had the same cause, but 
Whitefield moved immense crowds and produced "white 
gutters made by their tears which plentifully fell down 
the black cheeks" of the colliers of Newcastle by his ex- 
ceedingly dramatic eloquence. Dow attracted multitudes 

274 



275 

by the oddities of his dress, manners and sayings. Each 
reached the hearts of men by different ways ; Whitefield 
by the dramatic, Dow by calling multitudes together by 
blowing a horn and then indulging in grotesque and 
semi-tragic eloquence. The former had qualities which 
touched a peculiarly sensitive vein which existed in his 
day. The latter reached and stirred the rough senti- 
ments of frontiersmen to strong impulses and stern re- 
solves. Moody's differed from those of any other man, 
for he had methods as every man has who is sane. 

Moody lived in a time of great religious thought. 
He conceived the idea that sacred history was more than 
the dead letter of events. Others, like Whitefield, had 
sought by art, ingenuity and picturesqueness of descrip- 
tion to give life to their work and enliven the events 
themselves, like dealing with the personnel of the Saviour 
and his following, their personal passions and sacrifices. 
Moody simply saw God as the centre of all sacred history, 
and the plan of salvation as the means of accomplishing 
His will, and he sought in the philosophy of that great 
plan the means of advancing the object of his labors. He 
used the relation of events in sacred history simply as 
lessons in the great central philosophy of his life. He 
used the songs of Sankey, as a farmer uses the stirring 
up and smoothing implements of husbandry in preparing 
the ground for seed, to stir up and smooth the sentiments 
of his hearers and fit them for his words. But the seed 
he sowed was of his own selection. He assorted it by the 



276 

light of sacred history. 

He lived in a time when old religious theories were 
tottering on their foundations. Many had been thrown 
down, for which others had not yet been substituted. 
This gave him more room and opportunity to plant the 
simple principles of the primitive faith in the hearts of 
the masses, and in such simple forms of administration as 
to be easily assimilated by the common mind. 

But the great strength of the man, so far as his in- 
dividuality was involved, consisted in his whole-hearted, 
benevolent, unselfish, charitable, and in every way deep 
conviction that he was in the right, and in the belief and 
feeling of the masses that he was sincere and without the 
least suspicion of any sinister design. Added to this was 
an independence not arrogant like that which is asserted 
by the will, but that which emanates from and is vindi- 
cated by the nature of the man, his conditions and en- 
vironment. So that when his own work and talk, by con- 
trast, exposed defects more or less concealed in organized 
religious bodies, however they may have felt rebuked or 
chagrined, they had no cause for complaint. He was pe- 
culiar in that he stood alone, unaided and untrammeled 
by any organized censorship or support. 

No man has stamped his individuality on the period 
of religious history last past more unconsciously, or in- 
voluntarily, or with deeper or more lasting impression, or 
given in the same time a greater exhibition of one man 
power, than Dwight L. Moody. 



BISHOP LOUIS DEGOESBRIAND. 

E are constantly losing valuable men who are dis- 
tinguislied for tlieir work along some line or in 
some particular calling, but in tbe death of the venerable 
Bishop Louis DeGoesbriand the people of Vermont and 
this country generally have lost a man of the most valu- 
able, general attributes. He was distinguished as a 
scholar, an efficient organizer and disciplinarian, but 
through all his stern and necessarily earnest work ran 
the kindliest and most charitable sentiments. With him 
everything belonged to the cause and nothing to self. 
He was incapable of rebuke that was not tempered with 
a gentle charity, and his absolute independence was al- 
ways expressed in terms of the utmost courtesy and con- 
sideration for others. In the death of the Bishop his im- 
mediate followers have lost the father and friend of many 
long years and the State a model citizen. 

277 



JUX 



AUSTIN H. HALL. 

"Soldier rest ! thy warfare o'er, 
Dream of fighting fields no more ; 
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking. 
Morn of toil, nor night of waking." 

USTIN H. Hall was a son of Ransom and Annie 
(Caswell) Hall. He was born at Waterford, Vt., 
October 31, 1839; married to Samantha E. Stevens June 
22, 1869, and died at Island Pond April 24, 1900. His 
wife and two daughters, Mrs. Agnes H. Wilson and Mrs. 
Rena B. Carten, survive him. 

He enlisted June 20, 1861 in 3d Regt. Vt. Vols., a 
private in Co. D., was made sergeant July 16, 1861 ; re- 
enlisted December 21, 1863; was made second lieutenant 
Co. I., 3d Vt., August 4, 1864, promoted adjutant Octo- 
ber 18, 1864, and was mustered out of service July 11, 
1865. He was wounded at Mayre's Heights May 3, 
1863, and again at Cedar Creek October 19, 1864. On 
one of these occasions as he was loading his gun he took 

278 



279 

hold of the ramrod to send the charge to place, when a 
bullet from the enemy shattered his hand, which with 
skilful treatment wa-s got into fair shape so that although 
never flexible he could write well, but with non-elastic 
motions. 

Soon after his return from the war he entered the 
customs service and remained in it almost all the time 
until a few days before his death, except during dem- 
ocratic administrations. During the time he was out 
of public service he purchased and greatly improved the 
Stevens farm, which was the old homestead of his wife's 
parents near Island Pond village, and raised some fine 
horses, in the management of which he was skilful. At 
the time of his death he owned also a residence in the vil- 
lage. 

Home from the wars, safe from their perils, cour- 
age and patriotism secured, in a country prosperous and 
happy, its brave veterans honored and cared for ; united 
to his life companion in the midst of bright hopes, blos- 
soming in growing infancy ; walking in that comradery 
which grows ardent with age ; taking a part in everything 
that was going with all the zest of his eager nature, — he 
suddenly stopped and fell into the arms of wife and 
daughter, whose care and tender ministrations filled every 
hour and minute as the forms and figures and thoughts 
of life gradually grew dim and dimmer, until they were 
lost in eternal night. 

As a soldier he was enthusiastic, hopeful, positive 



28o 

and uncompromising; and when the war was over he 
earnestly entered into all the purposes, associations, 
memories and feelings with which home, country, society, 
or the touch of a comrade's elbow, could fire in any hu- 
man being. He was in a country full of the blessings of 
civil, social and domestic life. He was where he could 
night after night join his brave comrades in telling 
stories of the "battles, sieges and fortunes they had 
passed" until memory deepened into reality ; and what 
seemed to be, to them was. A few days since a file leader 
disappeared, and now he is gone ! The camp fires are 
low. Silent, thoughtful and sad the martial rites are 
performed. But hope and joy and pride rise above the 
sadness of even such an hour; the hope of glory in the 
eternal camping grounds, and jo}^ and pride in sublime 
lives that we all know are realities. Men and women 
would be weak and ignoble if they should fiinch or de- 
spair at the loss of one of those who made his time heroic. 
Such was adjutant Hall as a soldier. 

As a man, he was blithe, and of that various humor 
that on occasion (and he never let one go by) he was just 
the man to cheer up a heavy time or give added eclat to 
a lively one. Like all such natures he exhibited nervous 
relaxation, almost to austerity, but which quickly gave 
way to bright returns of cheerfulness and snap and jest 
and lively and humorous conditions. In body and mind 
he was tasty, agile, and fruitful in active and efficient re- 
sources and attachment to friends, and contemptuous of 



28l 

unfriendliness. His designs were clean cut and developed 
with, care, vigilance and thoroughness. 

He was a valued member of the masonic fraternity 
and the G. A. R., and managed the financial department 
of the former for a great many years with absolute ex- 
actness. He was a worker, always zealous and prompt, 
spurning negligence, rebuking indolence, adjusting 
irregularities and touching up the electrical currents of 
the orders. A long time in the customs service, his work 
for neatness, dispatch and accuracy, was excelled by that 
of no other man who has ever been engaged in such work 
at this port. 

Now he has passed away from all those things which 
were everything to him ; but although his individual life 
and contact with the world is ended, the results of his con- 
tributions to the common good remain. Considering the 
countless millions who have and wall people the earth it 
is not so important how much one has contributed to 
maintain freedom, order and religious liberty, as that he 
has contributed something ; and he who fought in the 
army of the republic is adjudged by all mankind to have 
made such contribution. Against this no criticism of 
the donor, not even the memory of faults, can stand. 
Like the lamented Currier, and many others, the subject 
of this sketch would have been alive now but for the 
effects of army service. But let us not wander to the 
gloomy side, staying rather in the beneficent. If we 
could look more to the compensations of life, and cease to 



282 

regard death as a misfortune, how much happier the 
world would be ! And so in deepest mourning and sor- 
row there is comfort and consolation even where the loss 
of our late friend and brother touches hearts most keenly. 
Would the companion of his life rob his memory of a sol- 
dier's fame and honor, even if their procurement did 
abridge his day ? Would he have authorized that 
daughter, watching each look and motion as he was pass- 
ing away, to blot out the memories and facts of his life 
in exchange for a prolongation of his days ; and would 
she have asked it ? Would the other one in the far west, 
even while looking through the loneliness which distance 
from her home added to almost irreconcilable grief, have 
exchanged what he had done or what he was for a few 
more days to be added to his life ? Neither would sor- 
row prompt anyone to arraign the wisdom and goodness 
of creation by receiving its benefits and repudiating the 
cost of them. The memory of the dead would spurn such 
an idea. And so it is well ! He sleeps in that universal 
gratitude awakened by valorous lives, in the affectionate 
memories of his family, and will be fraternally remem- 
bered by that little band of veterans until there shall be 
none to feel the touch of the elbow of the last survivor. 




?^<^-^%A^-<- 



WILMOT G. NELSON. 

QJJ rustic little town, in a sense widely, but rudely 
'^^ romantic because situated on the line between two 
immense countries, and surrounded and covered by a 
wealth of timber which formed a dense forest, seemingly 
interminable and inexhaustible, yet which now is almost 
exhausted; a young man there going into trade with 
determination, patience and remarkable thoroughness, 
yet with a geniality, sociability and generous sympathy 
for others seldom equalled, are the outlines of the pic- 
ture at the commencement of the business life of Wilmot 
Greenleaf Nelson. 

He began with others in rude conditions, but on land 
which if it was new, was watered by the purest streams. 
The adventurers breathed the most healthful airs and 
lived in the invigorating influences of a live little com- 
munity, in which to have been idle would have been lone- 
liness and disgrace ; and as thrift always follows frugality, 

283 



284 

our friend grew into most happy conditions. He early 
allied himself with one who not only cheered him in 
the details of his daily perplexities, but also shed a cheer- 
ing influence over the community. She soon found time 
to inspire a pride and sentiment in the minds of her 
good friends, whose generous response, united to her own 
efforts, built a little church close by her happy home. 
She was to her husband a source of pleasant and joyous 
inspiration, and to the little community what a cheerful 
fireside is to a home. Thus nestled in most inspiring 
conditions, and in the midst of a people moved by rough, 
but fresh and strong impulses, ever in sight of the little 
church, typical of a love for him next (if not equal) to a 
woman's faith in and love for heaven, surrounded by 
growing infancy, and absolutely hedged in by the entire 
confidence of the small community, it is little wonder that 
Judge Nelson had grown to be all unconsciously, to a 
large extent, the director of the affairs of the town, and 
the friend and counsellor of every man in it. 

In every town in our country nature has created dif- 
ferent men for the development of separate but common 
interests. The solid and more material work is usually 
for the more stern, hard and unsocial in nature. The 
educational falls naturally to men of capacity along cer- 
tain other lines and is limited to them ; and so men of 
peculiar adaptation work in community in different ele- 
ments of development. But our friend possessed to an 
unusual degree a very great variety of qualities, adapted 



285 

to nearly every want in the little settlement wliich be- 
came almost absolutely dependent on him. Stern and 
determined almost to wilfulness in vindicating what he 
thought to be right, firm and immovable in his convic- 
tions and friendships, yet he was cheerful, social, jocular, 
tender and hopeful in all his sentiments toward and in- 
tercourse with others, and as willing to undertake the 
task of helping a friend out of difiiculty as he would have 
been to help himself. Never were the poor people of any 
little town touched with keener sorrow for the loss of a 
good friend than are those he ever hastened to the relief 
of when, as always in a new country, there was a multi- 
tude of wants. He was constantly loaded with the un- 
numbered details and perplexities of those around him, 
which he disposed of with cheerfulness and patience 
quite unusual. 

All through his life he was constantly alternating 
between deep seriousness and anxiety, and emotions and 
demonstrations of cheerfulness and merriment. One al- 
ways bore away from an interview with him an im- 
pression of earnestness, and also the delightful memory 
of harmless jokes and merry laughter, but seldom, if 
ever, an impression of anything coarse or vulgar. He 
never sought political preferment. He willingly as- 
sumed the arduous duties of town offices, which were 
constantly imposed upon him; and was twice elected 
without any solicitation on his part assistant judge of 
Essex County Court, and he tried to relieve himself of 



286 

tliat office. He did not attend even the sessions of the 
court except when his attendance was absolutely re- 
quired. He was in the mercantile business for himself 
for many years. At length his success and capacity at- 
tracted the attention of A. M. Stetson, a wealthy man 
who owned the town of Norton, and operated a large 
supply and general furnishing store as incidental to his 
business of lumber manufacturing, and for the accommo- 
dation of the public, and Mr. Stetson made him general 
manager of what was known as the Stetson Store Co., 
the interest of which company he purchased almost two 
years since. He was just emerging from the liabilities 
incurred by that purchase when he discovered that he was 
in physical trouble, in which he suddenly declined, just 
as he had lived, alternating between despondency and 
hope, anxiety and cheerfulness. His case was in the eye 
of medical skill hopeful almost up to the time he went 
suddenly out. A sadder or heavier time than then never 
fell upon a family. A town or community was never 
more universally involved in grief than was this town the 
day he died. The lines of men soliciting his trade, mov- 
ing quickly to and from his place of business, were never 
stopped for a moment's sad reflection by the announce- 
ment of the death of a man with whom they had ever had 
more pleasant business relations or honorable dealings. 
The common and worldly friends of no man were ever 
moved to more tender sorrow than by the death of this 
friend. His death does not only seem like the going out 



28; 

of a busy man whom we respect, and the loss of whose 
business relations we feel, but it gives one a feeling of 
loneliness and awakens peculiar sensations of affection- 
ate sorrow. To us all who respected and loved him there 
is left only hope : to his friends, the hope of a warm hand 
shake and hearty greeting beyond the river ; to the wife, 
the hope that true love cemented and made durable by the 
perfect devotion of two lives will continue in a pleasant 
and bright hereafter ; to the children, the hope that pa- 
ternal affection will forever animate the soul with which 
they themselves will soon be immortal ; and to all, the 
hope that the rich sentiments and associations so dear to 
men and women will be preserved for future enjoyment. 
Let us make the most of such hope, so as to go bravely 
on amidst the great sorrow through which we must pass 
and cannot avoid. 



LUTHER LADD. 

JM^R. Ladd was born at Danville, Vt., in 1829. His 
•'"•' father was Joseph Ladd, an ingenious carpenter. 
Luther Ladd began building toy mills and similar struc- 
tures as early as boys begin to seek playthings, and at a 
very early age began wood working in earnest. In fact 
he was born into and continued that occupation as long 
as he lived. He came to Island Pond in 1854, and with 
his father commenced building a house. 

In 1855 he went to Peacham and married Martha 
Bwell, who was born there in 1832, and whose father 
Isaac was, among other things, an inventor. To them 
were born Martin B., Bertie C, Hattie M., and Harry J. 
Martin B. and Harry J. only are now living. 

Luther Ladd belonged to a family the members of 
which as skilled artisans possessed marked charadleristics. 
He was one of those men who did something useful and 
effective. A man with artistic designs is always a benefit 

288 



289 

to any place he touches. His life and presence is sug- 
gestive of and contributive to taste, culture and improve- 
ment ; and when he has also industry, energy and ability 
to execute those designs, his life becomes a double bless- 
ing to a community. Such was our late lamented friend. 
He belonged to a class of men (most eminent among 
whom was his own family) who possessed peculiar genius. 
Those men were not only born architects but trained ones. 
By birth, tastes and inclinations they devoted their whole 
lives to that ennobling science and art out of which sprang 
the beauty and majesty of wondrous cities, high monu- 
ments, immense viaducts, as well as the humble struc- 
tures of a village, requiring equal skill and judgment. 
Our friend had such skill and system in planning his 
work, and imparted so much proficiency in it to his son, 
as to enable the latter when scarcely more than a boy to 
frame a large mill, setting out each piece offhand in such 
a manner that the parts were united without the malfor- 
mation of a single piece. Those men took pride in their 
work and the community was proud of it. The question 
of who excelled among them (especially the Ladds) was 
never settled in the mind of the public except that each 
excelled in some particular line of work. 

In order to get at the character and accomplishment 
of those men it is necessary to consider the times and con- 
ditions in which they lived. In the early days of this 
community only the crudest and most scanty materials 
were available. Those men did not then have the present 



290 

facilities for manufacturing, especially the ornamental 
parts of a building. The means of their employers were 
also limited. So that their work reflects more the Doric 
style than any other, because simplicity, strength and 
economy were best adapted to the comforts and neces- 
sities of pioneer life. Even if they had possessed true 
conceptions of the more delicate, ornamental or Corinth- 
ian styles, or had been, as they were, capable of arrang- 
ing the Composite, those were not adapted to the condi- 
tions of those early times. But notwithstanding these 
considerations the styles of those times were characteristic 
and do not suffer in comparison with the more pretentious 
and expensive ones developed now by a composition of 
the different orders of architecture. And as the former 
were better adapted to the comfort and means of the 
builders of old, so it may be that they would be in some 
instances to those of the builders of the present time ; for 
as "Old Hundred" was the grandest music in its infancy, 
so it has intrinsic merit enough to be so now. Besides, 
in architecture, as in law or medicine, more originality 
and invention were required fifty years ago than at the 
present day. Now models corresponding to the highest 
conceptions of a Ruskin are made for general and particu- 
lar application, and the best facilities for manufacturing 
the most difficult and delicate parts of a building are in 
the hands of men trained to the highest skill along cer- 
tain lines of work ; while formerly every part had to be 
wrought by the same hand and designed by the same 



291 

mind, by the aid of only the most general outlines of 
architectural work. 

The first house built in this town by Luther Ladd 
and his father is as firm on its foundations as it was when 
built, nearly half a century ago. The cellar wall was 
built of cobble stones and is of such frail appearance and 
yet such actual strength, durability and ingenious con- 
struction, as to be an object of curiosity and surprise. 

But the good work of our friend on earth is done. 
He built homes for many and brought no discomfort to 
any. He attended to his own work and meddled not 
with others. He was not a sentimental man, but firm, 
energetic, accurate, honest and industrious. As with his 
work, so he believed in an accurate and fitting adjust- 
ment of his affairs with his neighbors and all with whom 
he came in contact. We have lost an honest, skillful and 
good man, who yielded to everyone just dues and was de- 
fiant only to the extent of his exact rights. To a man 
who has done good to a community and no detriment the 
public owes much, it largely shares the grief of his fam- 
ily at the loss, and longs to do or say something to lighten 
the blow where it falls heaviest. 

It is a relief to look at the compensations nature has 
provided for sorrow. In this case the wife looks only to 
the fidelity, care, earnestness and furnishings of an affec- 
tionate husband ; the children look comforted upon the 
watchfulness, zeal and anxiety of a fond father to furnish 
them all the comfort and means of education in his power, 



292 

and to transmit to them, with a pride equal to that of his 
own young life, his ability and skill. They can reflect 
on a home founded by the energy and care and cemented 
by the devotion of parents which comprised a circle never 
disturbed or broken except by the hand of death, whose 
crudest messages are filled with mercy and consolation. 
And he has left to all a rich legacy, a life steady, consist- 
ent, uniform, long continued and useful, enterprising 
and vigorous, filled with kindness but not demonstrative, 
honestly proud of skill but not vain, and which is dis- 
tinctly stamped upon the construction of the town and 
village and which will last with the memory of the first 
half century of the happy days of our town, and until 
all his companions shall be united and mingled in the re- 
sults and purposes of their creation. 



NICKERSON WARNER. 

♦IM ICKERSON Warner wHo died at his residence at 
■■ ^ Island Pond, October 4, 1900, had a more enter- 
prising and eventful life than his later years suggest. 
He was born at Montreal, Que., December 21, 1819. His 
father moved from Walden to Montreal, and died there 
when the boy was three weeks old. The father was just 
recovering from a severe attack of smallpox and was at- 
tracted to a burning building. He voluntarily rushed 
into the flames to rescue a victim and was so drenched 
with cold water that he soon died. Nickerson's grand- 
father brought the infant, his brother, sister and mother, 
back to Walden in January, in a sleigh. At nine years 
of age Nickerson was bound to service and at twenty pur- 
chased the remainder of his minority. He went to South 
Troy and with his brother George entered into the hotel 
business. From there he went to driving lumber down 
the Connecticut river, and was later connected with build- 

293 



294 

ing tlie Holyoke dam ; after which he was engaged in 
building railroad bridges between New York and Hart- 
ford. Returning to Troy he purchased the stage route 
from Troy to Lowell and Hyde Park ; later he purchased 
and conducted the route from Derby Line to Island Pond, 
with a branch route to Willoughby Lake. About 1855 
Mr. Warner came to reside at Island Pond, where he 
lived until his death. 

He was a man of remarkable endurance, coming to 
Island Pond late night after night heavily loaded with 
passengers and all sorts of errands, he would sit down 
and catch a little sleep, and be off early in the morning 
for the 9 o'clock train at Lyndonville, where he would 
get a little more sleep if he had time. His work during 
the war was enormous. His was regarded as a direct and 
somewhat secluded route for subjects fleeing to Canada. 
He carried loads and loads and flourished, and made an 
otherwise undesirable route pay. At the close of the war 
he sold the route and found himself with a snug little 
sum of money. About 1867 he purchased the Green 
Mountain House and entertained the public until a few 
years since. Among other enterprises, he was interested 
in the Vermont House ; and owned and operated a thea- 
tre in Montreal. 

On the 7th day of October, 1867, he married Miss Sarah 
A. Aldrich, a daughter of the late Judge Elias Aldrich, 
who many years in succession represented the town in 
the General Assembly of Vermont, and who recently 



295 

died at the age of 96 years. She being a frugal, indus- 
trious and capable woman went into business when Mr. 
Warner closed the hotel, and has since conducted a 
flourishing little trade, dealing in a variety of merchan- 
dise suited to the wants of a country town. They were 
both constant attendants upon religious services, and 
took great interest in their (the Congregational) Church. 
To them was born a son (George), who died October 3d, 

1893. 

Mr. Warner would have increased his accumulations 
faster after he left staging, (if he did at all) but while he 
kept a public house many a destitute traveler came to his 
door and never went away hungry. His door and his 
heart were always open to the poor, and his honest, un- 
suspecting nature often exposed him to impostors and 
impositions which he met with generous thought, as he 
would say, "Well, we must all have something to live on." 
At every opportunity his hand was turned to help some- 
body and lighten some burden. And thus he took 
up many burdens and failures of the poor and improvi- 
dent and carried them himself. Prosperity never had a 
particle of influence to lift his ideas or associations above 
his friends and old companions. His notions were plain, 
simple, practical and just. He was bound to his kindred 
and friends by those strong ties created by knocking 
about the world and meeting alternate favors and rebuffs. 
He envied nobody and did not seem to care to attract 
attention. He went about his daily affairs interestedly 



296 

and industriously as if doing unseen work was tHe end of 
duty and inclination. He walked quietly to church with 
his good wife as if he enjoyed a cleanly, restful day for 
the real good there was in it, never seeming to think of 
the faults of others or his own goodness in doing so. He 
simply followed duty induced by his honest inclinations. 
And so he was a plain, good man. He met with some 
ill luck. But coming out of it all he settled down with a 
little (all he needed) into a domestic life of comfort with 
a fit companion who stayed devotedly by him until his 
death, as did his kindred and friends, for he was a true 
kinsman to his blood and scarcely less to all who knew 
him. He lived to see his brother, his associate in busi- 
ness in early life, well fixed in a comfortable western 
home, with healthy, enterprising children, and also a 
daughter in her happy New England home. A shadow 
passed across our dead friend's life from a visitation 
which took away an only son, just coming to a helpful 
age. But in the old man's decline he had no lack of kind 
hands to gently lead him to his journey's end. 

After a long, toilsome and useful life the old man is 
at rest. Rest ? Yes. It is true, as to him, it is an un- 
conscious rest ; but it is not immaterial, because to the 
living it seems like rest. That is a comfort to a friendly 
eye, and none other will ever look on the resting place of 
Nickerson Warner. 

But every care in human possibilities has been be- 
stowed on the dead. And living hearts now turn in sym- 



297 

pathy to the living ; to her who has followed son and hus- 
band to those eternal shades, from which duty bids her 
turn to life and light again. She has all the comfort 
that can attend such situations, among which are capa- 
city and means to accomplish her little sacred ambitions 
in life, to aid where true and generous womanhood de- 
sires, and an unwavering faith that a short walk alone 
will lead her to where she will join her friends in a more 
genial clime and happier home than ever was breathed 
and enjoyed by mortals. 



ALVIN BARTLETT. 

HLVIN Bartlett was born in Morgan November 15, 
1833, and died at Island Pond October 6, 1900. 
He was married to Miss Sarah Buclianan June 20, 
1858 by Rev. Jacob Clark, wbo baptized him in infancy, 
and was his pastor until he was married. Mr. Bartlett 
was converted during the revival of 1876. His children 
are Hon. E. M. Bartlett, Jennie, the wife of Rev. T. M. 
Edmands, of Mankato, Minn., Mrs. Porter H. Dale, Mrs. 
E. F. Norcross, Miss Edith, and a daughter was, who 
died in infancy. He always spoke of his pastor with 
gratitude, and the date of his conversion as the turning 
point in his destiny. He moved on to the farm which 
his father cleared, and remained there until he came to 
Island Pond in 1866 and went into the store, that is now 
being reconstructed, as clerk for Bartlett & Robinson, 
which firm was composed of J. M. Bartlett and E. C. 
Robinson. This firm was succeeded by A, Bartlett & 

298 



^4'*^yt>''^t<t^ 




^^^^'^^^^--'^^ /3W- 



299 

Co., composed of A. Bartlett, and Bartlett & Robinson, 
and in turn succeeded by A. Bartlett, Son & Co., by admit- 
ting E. M. Bartlett. This last named firm was succeeded 
by A. Bartlett & Son, which continued to the death of 
Alvin, who so long at the head, and having the principal 
and active management of the business, seldom was ab- 
sent from the store, preferring to give his constant atten- 
tion to the details of the business, and to find his recrea- 
tion at home with his family and his books. 

Christopher Bartlett, the first town clerk of Morgan 
and one of the first settlers of that town, went there about 
1805. In him were the germs of those distinctive charac- 
teristics of Alvin Bartlett, his grandson. Of the former, 
a writer now gone said that he was "upright in his deal- 
ings with others and he expected the same from them," 
and that "he was a strict observer of the Sabbath and all 
religious duties. If he was more exacting in regard to 
his requirements of others than was thought to be neces- 
sary, he was yet conscientious and sincere," 

Jarvis Bartlett will be remembered by those who 
knew him during the last years of his life, while he lived 
here with his son Alvin. He cleared up his farm from 
the forest, and it is said by those familiar with his whole 
life that his rules of conduct were almost as strict, and his 
religious convictions deeper than were those of his father. 

Thus coming from an ancestry whose lives and asso- 
ciations were woven into the fabric of sentiments, which 
are always strong in primeval settlements, especially in 



300 

New England, our friend came to them by heredity. 
Like his ancestors he regarded the religious and moral 
tone of the community to be of the first importance, and 
as demanding the first care and best efforts of its mem- 
bers. He inherited that perfect and uncompromising in- 
tegrity and sincerity which characterized his fathers. 
The most common service for his Master was by him re- 
garded as most acceptable. His care, work, sacrifices 
and prayers for the upbuilding of the church, were limit- 
ed only by his utmost capacity. He was unpretending, 
democratic and plain in his life work, looking for tbe 
good and substantial in everything, always seeking sub- 
stance rather than show. Wherever he did not feel that 
he could relax the rigor of thought maintained by his an- 
cestry, he was not intrusive with it, but maintained it in 
such a manner as not to obstruct others in doing good ; 
and therein he had large charity. What he did, he did so 
quietly, yet effectively, that it will be more appreciated in 
the future than in the past. He had arrived at that age 
when his personal plans were accomplished, and was 
entering into that space in which he began to live for his 
generations, his children, and his children's children, 
among whom time will search far and wide for one more 
anxious for or devoted to religious and moral culture and 
observances. In worldly affairs, he was a thorough busi- 
ness man, subjecting himself to and demanding of others, 
open, frank, square and exact work and business inter- 
course. To his family, he was kind and affectionate. For 



30I 

them he was frugal, open-handed and generous, encour- 
aging in them a desire for culture, healthy economy 
without stint, and above all for moral and religious lives. 
To the world, he was careful, prudent, honest and just. 
Whoever consulted him got his honest thought. He 
never betrayed his Master, or his fellow-being b}'^ giving 
false advice to produce momentary approval. Would that 
we had more such men to stand against the currents 
of the times. 

The bare facts state best the impressions his life 
makes on the mind. He early settled down firmly and 
steadfastly into close but easily fitting conditions, rela- 
tions, and personal and business habits, and into an im- 
movable faith in religious matters, and was never dis- 
turbed in them. He never met with misfortune severe 
enough to disturb the continuity and prosperity of his 
business, which satisfied his modest and reasonable de- 
sires. He saw himself begirt with a numerous progeny 
which surrounded him with industrious and honorable 
lives. His worldly store was of a healthy growth, in- 
creasing by honest accretion. His church was between 
himself and all the world beside. His domestic rela- 
tions were lively, sincere, earnest and true, but always 
exercised and playing in harmony with his nature. The 
undeviating lines of his life were drawn by deep convic- 
tions, so deep as not to admit of any doubt, (in his mind) 
or compromise ; and so sincere as to completely vindi- 
cate him from worldly criticism and to withstand eternal 



302 

judgment; and his going was painless, "like one wlio 
draws the drapery of his couch about him and lies down 
to pleasant dreams." To such a man, death seems to be a 
tender, gentle nurse, lulling him to quiet and eternal rest. 

Sometimes the living, weakened by grief, imagine 
and feel remorse for some fancied neglect or ill done to a 
kind, good being who is dead. It is a pity that such 
grief should come, because it is so fanciful, and yet so 
sincere, but reason says it ought to cease because it is so 
unfounded, and besides the dead are beyond the reach of 
human compensation. No penance can relate to them. 
Let grief but serve as a lesson to the living. Try to 
make amends to the coming generation and not to that 
which is gone, and it will be said that inasmuch as you 
have done it unto the least of them you have done it also 
unto those who have gone. You cannot fix the couches 
of the dead. Each makes up his own everlasting couch, 
and there is seldom any thorn or thistle in it that the 
occupant does not put there himself. We think our 
friend made up his better than he knew. 

To live a life of continuous, permanent prosperity, 
large enough for every want, and not enough to bring 
anxiety and fretful care ; to guard himself and his de- 
pendent ones with industry and frugality, to maintain 
their grateful appreciation, and the constant respect of 
the community; to see his declining church restored and 
beautified; to enjoy the perfect harmony of domestic re- 
lations through all his life ; to see so much new life pro- 



303 

ceeding from his own ; and then to drop gently to sleep 
amid the humming noises of a younger life, — just makes 
a picture to which desire could hardly add a touch or tone. 
Nor wife, nor son, nor daughter, nor nearest friend, 
should grieve that our absent friend was sent into the 
world, and that he has finished the work for which he was 
sent, and been called to his reward. 



JOSHUA HENSHAW. 

^^HE city of Montreal has lost one of its most univer- 
^^ sally respected citizens in tlie death of Mr. Henshaw. 
He was born in Montreal in 1828, being the son of the 
late George Sage Henshaw, a well known advocate. He 
married in 1856, Miss Fayrer, a daughter of Canon Fayrer, 
Bart., the English scientist. Two of his sisters survive 
him, Mrs. John Miller Grant, of London, England, and 
Mrs. Fayrer, of Southsea, England. He leaves also two 
sons, Mr. H. H. Henshaw, of the Royal Electric Com- 
pany, and Mr. C. G. Henshaw of Vancouver, and one 
daughter, Mrs. Frederick W. Taylor, of Montreal. 

A wide circle of friends in this locality will receive 
the news of Mr. Henshaw's death with a sorrow akin to 
that which is experienced at the loss of a dear kinsman. 
He had such a vigorous, stirring, searching presence 
that he impressed others long after they were separated 
from him. There was no limit to his good will and gen- 

304 



305 

erosity. His hospitality was frank, open, and unbounded. 
He was for many years at Island Pond in charge of the 
Grand Trunk Railway's wood lands, and superintended 
the cutting wood from them. He had a log house which 
was a model of rustic simplicity, but so neat and com- 
fortable, the occupants of the most costly dwelling might 
naturally desire to exchange with him. His fare was 
most simple, his manners unpretending, and his greetings 
so frank that people resorted to his hospitable "ranch," 
as it was called, in great numbers. He was however, 
strong, energetic, systematic, and resented any impro- 
priety of conduct or treatment with great severity and 
indignation. At the slightest suggestion of poverty or 
distress his old "cutter" would glide up to the door with 
something very plain and good to eat, and enough of it, 
and with it would something come to warm a poor fellow 
creature. He was surrounded by a number of poor fami- 
lies, and none of them were cold or hungry if he knew 
it. His family lived at St. Hyacinthe while his employ- 
ment was here. He was dignified and proud of his use- 
ful employment and his manner of living, and he was an 
accomplished sportsman, being the best billiard player 
in the vicinity. He never indulged in any but manly 
sports, and despised the low or illicit. His courtesy was 
such that his life socially and otherwise ran pleasantly 
and genially along. He was one of the finest types of a 
country gentleman and many here feel his loss as sensi- 
bly as they would if he had died in the midst of us. 



JAMES OLIVER B. T. HALL. 

^ AMES Oliver Buchanan Templar Hall, was born in 
%J St. John, Newfoundland, October 29, 1872, and died 
at Pekin, China, August 15, 1900, aged 27 years and 10 
months. 

The pleasant and peculiarly friendly relations which 
have come to exist between the people of Island Pond and 
the Rev. and Mrs. Thomas Hall, without regard to creed 
or denomination, have made everybody here mourners 
with them and the surviving children, in the death of a 
son and brother. 

The deceased was one of a handful of our brave sol- 
diers who fell while engaged in the storming of the walls 
of Pekin. His body was sent to Island Pond from there, 
via San Francisco, by the United States government, and 
reached here at i p. m., Wednesday, May 20, 1901. It 
was met at the station by members of Erastus Buck Post, G. 
A. R., and, with the American flag spread over the casket, 

306 



307 

was transferred to the Congregational Church, in which 
the funeral services were held in the afternoon, attended 
by Vermont's Adjutant and Inspector-General, W. H. 
Gilmore, Col. C. M. Bonett and a guard of soldiers selected 
from the St. Johnsbury Company, Erastus Buck Post, 
G. A. R., Col. Z. M. Mansur Camp, S. of V., and so large 
a number of sympathizing friends that the church edifice 
could not hold them. 

When a brave, generous, young man, the product of 
years of anxiety, care, and good loyal teaching, the hope 
and pride of a family into the tendrils of whose hearts his 
own is woven until each becomes as a whole, is suddenly 
torn from all connection with others, then, even the heart 
strings of the living are broken. The grief of parting 
forever with a friend in our homes in quiet, even amid all 
the sad types attending death, is always soothed by con- 
ditions ; and there is a kind of comfort in even the spade, 
the casket and the tomb, and especially in the fact that 
the inanimate form is still lying under the care and con- 
cern of our own lives ; but when the subject is cut down 
in a far off land, and leaves no sign or token to trace his 
going, then, there must be a loneliness that the less ex- 
perienced know not of. And although the deepest grief 
has its consolations when sought, and the glory of the 
life and death of valorous men is among them, it is hard 
for those on whom the blow falls heaviest to see that in 
the lives and death of grand men there is a flood of con- 
solation. 



3o8 

A soldier's funeral always awakens tender and bene- 
ficial reflections. The occurrence was new here and im- 
pressive. A slow, still moving line of carriages contain- 
ing mourners and sympathizing friends, whom the mili- 
tary cortege were escorting with a body to its rest in the 
cemetery, moved along a street in the stirring and enter- 
prising New England village temporarily hushed and 
with business suspended, so that no sound was heard 
save the muffled drum and the measured tramp of a squad 
of representative military men. The casket in full view 
was enfolded by the American flag, the ample folds of 
which seemed to cling to the dead soldier's encasement 
as tenaciously as though its every fibre were woven into 
the glory and devotion which the martyred patriot and 
hero had exercised and enjoyed with it. There was; and 
why was there unusual sympathy with the occasion ? 
Were there broken or severed relations between him and 
the community ? Why was a distinguished military gen- 
eral here with an escort representing the State of Ver- 
mont ? Had the fallen soldier been one of them ; and 
had he shared their living hopes and military aspirations ? 
Far from it ! Barring the immediate relatives, but few in 
the procession had ever heard of him until his heroism 
touched the cord that ran from the summit of that fearful 
wall at Pekin to every American heart in the world. 
This little military escort represented the State doing 
homage to patriotism as manifested by an American sol- 
dier. It was the beloved commonwealth not only doing 



309 

homage to the devotion of a soldier of the great Republic, 
but also reflecting the gratitude of the whole country, 
and recognizing in its great name those valorous acts 
which make the actors immortal. It is a grand exhibi- 
tion of gratitude vv^hen a state or nation opens its heart 
and sends through its representatives volumes of recogni- 
tion of those qualities out of which spring a love of 
country, and joins and mingles its great sympathies with 
the personal griefs of the survivors of those slain in its 
defence. It matters little what the cause of the war is. 
Heroes are such because they defend and die for the 
country in any event, and on their shoulders rest all the 
defence that the weak, the helpless, the beautiful, the 
amiable and virtuous have from infancy to age. It mat- 
ters little that war is horrible in its necessities. For it 
is a necessity. In the nature of things no peaceful theory 
can stand before it. It is strong as nature and potent as 
any other result of creation and next in potency to 
the voice of the Creator. It is stayed by no pre- 
vious conditions, but sweeps them away and they disap- 
pear as frost before the coming sun, or as any powerful 
condition in nature is swept away by a succeeding one. 
And so in obedience to nature, and as one of its strongest 
elements and auxiliaries, heroism acts, and out of it comes 
the sublimest patriotism and martyrdom. It is true that 
there is occasionally a soldier who goes to war from a 
love of adventure, and fights from reckless inducements, 
but the great majority do not; and the highest type of 



3IO 

manhood, courage and patriotism was exhibited when a 
young soldier in the flush and zest of life, coming from 
highly respectable ancestry, trained in conditions of 
peace, and in cultivated and religious sentiments, in a far 
off country, amid unfamiliar scenes, most prominent of 
which were frowning defences, and having every reason 
to believe that where he fell he would lie unknown and 
perhaps unrecognized, yet went on, unawed by huge walls 
or the fires of death, with a handful of kindred braves, to 
meet most certain death. No wonder that such children 
lie very near the great heart of the nation ; no won- 
der that through its representatives the State recognizes 
in such lives and deaths her great dependence on such 
men, and manifests its grief at their loss. It is true that 
James Oliver B. T. Hall was not alone the occasion of 
the State being represented at his funeral. But in his 
heroic death he was the great contributing cause of the 
occasion of a scene in which the State, the public, is rep- 
resented as doing homage, bowing in adoration to those 
sublime sentiments which induce men to die for the com- 
mon safety and security. But the state has no sacrificial 
grief ; it has sentiment, but not passion or suffering. Its 
grief is swallowed up by the glory and strength that liv- 
ing and dying braves impart to it. Not so with that 
group of mourners. A father's hopes are crushed ; a 
mother's love grows stronger, only increasing its capacity 
to suffer grief ; and over the lives of brothers and sisters 
this morning cloud will hang, heavy, through all their 



311 

day. 

On what terrible personal sacrifice of subjects is the 
State builded, and what sympathy and tender consider- 
ation is due from it to those who are contributing so much 
through woe, sorrow and suffering to establish and main- 
tain it. 



MARY ANN MANSUR. 

Jll^ARY Ann Mansur was born at Morgan, Vt., April 
••"•^ 4, 1840, and died at Island Pond August 10, 1901. 
Her death was a shock to our community because of its 
suddenness, and also because of the tender relations which 
had woven her life into so many school districts, families, 
the church, and into an universal friendship and love of 
everything that was charitable and kind and of good re- 
pute. She was educated at Derby Academy, Derby, Vt., 
at a time when that school was doing its best, and when 
it was so pre-eminent in thorough work and rigid disci- 
pline, and when its students were most noted for pride 
and ambition in attaining the excellencies of life. At 
the age of eighteen years she began to teach, and taught 
for twenty-seven years, having charge of more than 
seventy schools which she conducted without exception 
with great success. She was a woman of remarkable na- 
tive talent, undemonstrative but keen and zestful in her 

312 



313 

conception of the beautiful, highly appreciating all the 
interesting sentiments of life. She loved her family, her 
church, her schools, and all the incidents and develop- 
ments of infancy and childhood. Her devotion to educa- 
tion absorbed her early life. Her native talent for music 
led her into an ardent desire to cultivate it, and she had 
the ability to acquire the means to do so. But just here 
sickness invaded the family, and everything she possessed, 
and every energy of her being, was devoted to others. 
From that time on, nothing was hers ; for all she had, in- 
cluding her whole being, was devoted to others, with ab- 
solute unselfishness, so far at least as any outward mani- 
festation is concerned. 

Men seldom lay down all their purposes and ambi- 
tions to devote their lives to the care and comfort of oth- 
ers. Some women do, and their devotion is purer, 
brighter, and more deserving of commendation and grati- 
tude because of its pure, simple and sincere nature ; and 
because of its exercise they are excluded from the world's 
gaze and toil on unknown, unrecognized and unencour- 
aged, buoyed up only by that pure devotion born of an 
inexhaustible nature. The chords that ran from her 
heart to her family, her church, into the homes and hearts 
of her pupils, and which reticulated through the entire 
community, were in unison with the noblest qualities of 
the human soul. How little humanity knows of its no- 
ble qualities, so many of them are beyond common obser- 
vation ! This example toiled on and never ceased until 



3^4 

she disappeared, quickly as do dreams. As slie slept in 
her quiet home, mourned by friends, and especially by 
her to whom she was nearest and who was most depend- 
ent on her for womanly and sisterly sympathy and com- 
fort, and the good man talked so appropriately of the 
sweet comforts of hope in immortality, an atmosphere of 
comfort was breathed by the assembled friends, while all 
felt that the destiny of the dead one was secure, and that 
many and many an one had been made comfortable and 
happier by her having lived. 



iHb 



SARAH SMITH CURRIER. 

RS. Currier was born at Wilmot, N. H., March 4, 
1839, and married Capt. Wm. M. Currier July 6, 
1 86 1. She died at Island Pond February 9, 1901, after 
severe suffering, leaving a daughter Alice (Willoughby) 
who was born October 36, 1864, and a son William Les- 
ter, born December 4, 1872. 

When the active varieties of a nervous and anxious 
life have ceased, and the pulsations of a body moved by 
quick impulses stop, it hushes the circle that they in- 
fluenced to silence and sorrow. The comparative influ- 
ence of even a kind, good woman in the whole world is 
scarcely counted in the great current of human events, 
but it is everything to those it helps, warms or feeds. 
Born and reared amid practical New England influences, 
Mrs. Currier inherited and grew into sentiments of even 
severity in morals and religion but which, going almost 
to the borders of intolerance, were always accompanied 

315 



3i6 

by such a generous spirit of devotion and self-sacrifice for 
others as to soften the rigors of what otherwise might al- 
most lead to criticism. She always stood with vigor, 
heart and courage by husband, family, friends, church 
and country. Having been a school teacher many years 
of her early life, she was awakened and always remained 
keenly alive to the cause of education, and was so efficient 
and vigorous in her attitude and treatment of matters re- 
lating to education that she was appointed to school 
offices. If any one was sick or in trouble she never hesi- 
tated, but was with them as soon as possible without any 
seeming thought of the sacrifice she was making. She 
was united in life with one who had no avarice and who 
possessed scarcely sufficient selfishness to secure what 
was rightfully his own. Their hospitality and generosity 
was so wide as to crowd hard on their resources, and yet 
Capt. Currier would not consent to apply for a pension 
even after he had become disabled, and not until he be- 
came almost totally helpless. What with the delays and 
technicalities of the pension department, his pension was 
not adjudged to him until too late for him to sign his 
check and vouchers ; and Mrs. Currier died just before 
her claim for it and her own pension was granted. So 
that a generous disposition of reluctance to ask the gov- 
ernment for what rightfully belonged to the brave sol- 
dier in the field, and brave woman in the house, was re- 
warded by delays, immaterial details of requirement, and 
other causes, until neither of them realized a cent by way 



317 

of pension. But fortunately they did not exhaust the 
little store that they had by industry and frugality laid 
by, and away from which no worthy person ever went 
hungry or cold. And so they rounded out brave and in- 
dependent lives, just as they had often prayed they might 
do. Her time, care, journeys, anxieties, and vigils to the 
point of exhaustion, her table, garden, and plants, were 
always taxed wherever they could yield comfort or relief. 
With a rare taste for flowers and a passion for their cul- 
tivation, she produced them in abundance and bestowed 
them on others so lavishly as to show that there was not 
a selfish thought or motion in all her toil. She was a 
woman of such quick impulses and determined action that 
her presence in a community was felt more than appreci- 
ated while living. She was a friend not alone in asser- 
tion, but in deeds and acts. It is not strange that friends 
and neighbors remembering her many acts of kindness 
and her quick and vigorous aid in times of need weep for 
the loss of a dear friend. To them her death is all loss, 
but to her it is no calamity. 

Children mourn parental deaths under all circum- 
stances, for the vine, even if it has taken root elsewhere, 
is shocked when the original stock is cut off or uprooted ; 
and when a strand is pulled out of the reticulating net 
work of town associations the whole is pained with grief. 
But somewhat peculiar conditions attended the lives of 
Capt. and Mrs. Currier which make their going recon- 
cilable. There is much compensation for the sorrow of 



3i8 

friends and the poignant grief of relatives in their de- 
parture. Born amidst rural scenes and associations, cul- 
tivating the strictest habits of regularity, economy and 
industry, they entered life with a health, strength and 
zest which took fast hold on the country and its institu- 
tions, for which he was soon fighting at the front and she 
at home. And then as soon as duty in the field was 
done he gladly turned to the joys and duties of home, 
church and country in civil life. With marked modesty, 
candor and judgment he filled the many positions to 
which he was called, and with her whom all mourn today, 
fought until borne down by death that had slowly fol- 
lowed him from the army. Happy is the woman whose 
ambition is fulfilled by an union with such a character. 
Let us rejoice with them that they died independent so 
far as worldly conditions are involved, and independent 
even of the tardiness, inefiiciency or ingratitude of the re- 
public. And although so many are retiring that it is 
getting lonesome now, it is the duty of all to rouse them- 
selves for the remaining duties of life. A toilsome, weary 
woman is at rest. She has gone to the *'land of the brave 
and the home of the free." In the peaceful chambers of 
that house of many mansions two are rejoicing. Let us 
not weep for them, but let us seek to imitate those gener- 
ous and unselfish qualities by which their lives were so 
distinguished. 



EVELYN FITZGERALD CAUSEBROOK. 

y||V RS. Causebrook, widow of the late Wm. B. Cause- 
•■■■•^ brook, so well known by his long connection 
with the Grand Trunk Railway Co., and a sister of 
George H. Fitzgerald, was widely known as one of the 
most accomplished women in many respects and of 
great proficiency in her chosen work. She died at the 
age of forty-seven years, at Island Pond the 20th day of 
August 1901, after a lingering and painful illness, which 
for more than a year had admonished her that recovery 
was impossible. She had been engaged at Burlington, 
Vt., for some time, in musical work, which she made sev- 
eral efforts to continue, but failing, came back here and 
soon passed away amid every effort of friends to smooth 
her final passage. She will be missed from the circles in 
which she moved in life because of some useful character- 
istics which distinguished her from others. 

She had the advantage of having a model education ; 

319 



320 , 

not one wliich simply enabled her to deal with the gen- 
eralities of subjects, and employ pat expressions and 
phraseological discourse ; but such an education as in- 
duces intelligent thought, taste and expression; such an 
one as gives to life students a knowledge of the nature, 
structures and uses of the common and practical things 
of life; one that elevates and adorns every day things and 
thoughts. She was eloquent, precise and accurate in 
outward forms and movements, whether with her pen or 
on the glassy ice bound lake. With her the most use- 
ful pursuits were accomplishments. But where she most 
excelled was in music. And there also her education led 
her along lines of utility ; and although intensely earnest 
and ambitious in this pursuit, and exacting and critical 
almost to fastidiousness, she exhibited an unusual gener- 
osity and whole souled benevolence in sharing with and 
imparting to others her proficiency, and especially with 
and to those whose limited means prevented them from 
enjoying and giving to others the pleasure and happiness 
which their ardent natures so much desired. 

The pleasures which the world derives from music 
are wrung from its unyielding science by long, hard and 
continuous toil, and enjoyed by the public regardless of 
what they cost. Much of our friend's work was the art 
of nature. 

"Over that art 
Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art 
That nature makes." 

This she possessed. Although^ a natural genius she sub- 



321 

ordinated everything to system and art so far as it could 
be done without destruction of the harmony and melody 
of nature. Her work was chara<5leristic and recognized 
by musicians as far as it was known. The little musical 
circles of which she was the center will feel the loss of 
her energetic and inspiring presence. But the loss of 
her will be most felt by those who are laboring to elevate 
the standard of music, and especially by those who in the 
infancy and youth of their careers were looking to her 
for encouragement, sympathy and direction. 



SAMANTHA E. HALL. 

JmVRS. Hall died at her residence in this village 
1.11*/ August 17, 1 90 1, aged almost fifty-two years. 
She was the widow of Adjt. A. H. Hall, who died April 
24, 1900, and a daughter of Warren and Susanna Stevens. 
Her father died many years ago, and before the civil war, 
but a spartan mother led the brave brothers to enlist- 
ment, even to the "Benjamin of the family," as Mary 
Clemmer Ames so beautifully expressed it. 

That strong, primitive and country bred spirit of de- 
votion to country and friends that so characterized the 
family was largely shared by Mrs. Hall, who was ever 
ready to help and encourage in the hard and dangerous 
pursuits of life, and who, like many others in those wild 
times, was overwhelmed with terrible apprehensions and 
realities which, with others, followed her until, stricken 
herself, she passed through tortures and sufferings to a 
final relief. She was active, energetic, and entered with 

322 



323 

keen interest into the soldierly sentiments of tlie war, 
and was among tHe foremost in individual and associated 
work to keep alive in tlie hearts of the living those senti- 
ments of patriotism and interest in the affairs of life 
which are the country's pride in times of peace, and which 
stand around it "like a wall of fire" in times of war. 

Death almost always pierces some one standing near- 
est its victim with its most stinging shafts, and no one 
else knows so well where to strike. But the keenest 
sufferer could not be so unkind as to call this one back 
from her repose beside the companion of her life, and 
amid the throng so united in great purposes in life, and 
so peaceful and restful in the sound sleep of eternal 
night. She, moved by womanly instincts, has passed 
through all the stages of devotion to and active and zeal- 
ous action in behalf of her society relations, husband, 
children, mother, brother, sister and friends, till her day 
is done. 

The brave men and devoted women of the heroic 
time are fast passing away. They have done the work 
which they were sent into the world to do and are called 
to their reward. Men and women in like conditions 
seem at times to follow each other faster than the com- 
mon exit, and the survivors of broken couples quickly 
follow fallen companions as if some mysterious sympa- 
thy temporarily hurried them along. On the 31st day 
of March, 1900, among others, one of our brave captains 
passed out of sight and soon his busy, useful wife, as if 



324 

fleeing from a lonely home, was gone : Capt. and Mrs. 
Wm. M. Currier. A companion in arms followed the 
captain; and now his widow, as if impatient to pursue 
the passing associations which had become her life, 
has gone. Such hurried goings make lonesome periods 
for the living, but restful thoughts concerning the dead 
couples sleeping side by side in that mysterious land 
to which a majority of the valorous men and patriotic 
women of our country's most heroic time have gone. 
Let us honor them and cherish their sacred memories, as 
they rest in their glorious sleep. 



CHARLES M. WILDS. 

/f^CCASIONALLY a man comes along through the 
^•'^ world whose contact with others inspires peculiar 
sensation. Charles M. Wilds was of that class. He was 
very different from the late Judge Steele, but in some 
charadleristics there was a strong resemblance between 
them. He shed no faint, colorless light in the world. His 
life was a meteoric, illuminating, yet organized, display. 
Very few men in Vermont have been brilliant. The soil, 
climate, and environment have not been adapted to the 
production of such; and fewer men in the State have 
combined brilliancy with substance and system. But 
when one does possess these qualities he is a rare speci- 
men. 

Formerly lawyers in Vermont moved in a sluggish 
yet strong current, full of substance and deep learning. 
When one rose from the plodding school, exhibiting dash 

325 



326 

and genius, lie attracted attention, and a clientage having 
business enougli in that line to last a lifetime. But such 
men were not adapted to a heavy line of work. And cool, 
calculating men of business requiring a lawyer sought a 
more quiet, unobtrusive worker. But conditions changed 
about the time Mr. Wilds came to the bar. Large enter- 
prises had suddenly taken on quick movements and be- 
come subject to sudden changes. And men like Col. 
Aldace F. Walker, to instance, who quickest conceived 
the nature and operations of the new order of things, 
came to the front. Just that time required men not alone 
of quick apprehension and vigorous execution, but men 
learned in those laws which pertained peculiarly to the 
new conditions. Quite a class of such men easily dis- 
tinguishable from the mass, and mostly young men, sud- 
denly developed qualities required by the times. Fore- 
most among them was Charles M. Wilds, who possessed 
learning, diplomacy and sociability which quickly brought 
him to the front ranks of the profession. He formed a 
partnership with Ex.-Gov. John W.Stewart, whose urban- 
ity, legal learning, great common sense and conserva- 
tiveness, contributed to make the firm one of the best bal- 
anced and most effective in the State. Mr. Wild's most 
prominent work has been so recently before the eyes of 
the public as not to permit more than a passing allusion 
to it here. As he was honest in his profession, so was he 
honest and sincere in his friendships. Interviews with 
him were always interesting, racy, and seasoned with off- 



327 

Hand culture. The last time I met Him was on a public 
occasion. THe tables were filled, but He suggested a 
metHod by wHicH we enjoyed a repast tHe memory of 
wHicH is filled witH reminiscences of tHe last toucH of a 
life wHicH gave added inspiration to otHers; and His 
sudden deatH Has startled and filled tHe minds of many 
witH a deep sorrow commensurate witH tHe strength of 
tHeir tHougHts and emotions. 



COL. ALDACE F. WALKER. 

'^^HE State of Vermont is not only deeply grieved, but 
^^ shocked by tlie news of the death of Col. Aldace 
F. Walker. It is a great blow to the State and especially 
to those who were in the line of law and legislation from 
1870 to 1890. He was a young man of very strong na- 
tive qualities, which were moulded by the rigid discipline 
of the Meriden School, the Middlebury College, and the 
thorough and practical Columbia Law School in New 
York city. 

In July, 1862, the year of his graduation from Mid- 
dlebury College, he enlisted in Co. R, ist Art., nth Vt. 
Vols., and was elected first lieutenant. He afterward be- 
came captain of Co. C, and Co. D, and subsequently was 
major and lieutenant-colonel of the regiment. In 1864 
he was breveted lieutenant-colonel for gallantry at the 
battles of the Opequon, Fisher's Hill, and Cedar Creek, 
and was mustered out in June, 1864, with his regiment. 

328 



329 

He began his career in Vermont in the seventies, 
having had some experience before, and no man in Ver- 
mont ever developed stronger or faster than he did. The 
noise of the coming of such men as Walker, Barrett, (a 
son of the late Judge James Barrett,) and C. M. Wilds 
from the southern part of the state, was plainly heard. 
Before Walker had been long in the state he and young 
Barrett were the foremost features, with their business, of 
one term of the Supreme Court. No man in the state 
ever rose from local to national prominence faster than 
did Col. Walker. He was elected president of the Ver- 
mont Bar Association in 1885. His address on that oc- 
casion was a masterly review of the Dartmouth College 
case, and of the variations that had been made in the ap- 
plication of the principles announced in that decision 
since it was made. Although he was exceedingly well 
grounded in the law generally, he seemed to have an in- 
tuitive knowledge of the law of railways that was remark- 
able, so much so that he was soon universally conceded 
to be a master spirit in that line. 

Mr. Walker was a Republican in politics, and was a 
member of the state senate in 1882-3, being chairman of 
the judiciary committee. In 1887 he was appointed by 
President Cleveland a member of the Inter-state Com- 
merce Commission on the organization of that body, be- 
ing one of the two Republican members. 

He was a man of remarkable apparent health, 
strength and vigor physically, which renders his sudden 



330 

death more shocking to his friends. Most men becoming 
absorbed in the law, gradually leave behind their sociabil- 
ity and friendly natures, but this man maintained and 
carried them along to the day of his death, as fresh and as 
lively as they were in his younger days. It is sad to see 
such lives as Walker and Barrett and Wilds interrupted 
and ended in the midst of so much promise for the future. 
This grouping and association of Col. Walker's, which 
no one who knew the men can avoid making, deepens the 
shade of sorrow that now rests upon his native state, and 
especially upon those who knew and loved him so well. 



BENJAMIN HARRISON. 

'^^HB career of Benjamin Harrison, and Benjamin Har- 
^^ rison president of the United States, differs from 
tHat of most any otlier man in the history of the country. 
In every other instance the office has magnified the man, 
and his reputation has depended largely upon his official 
opportunities. It is true that Lincoln as an individual 
achieved greatness in his giant contest with Stephen A. 
Douglass, and it was a greatness attained without any 
official aid and solely by the individual power of the man. 
But that did not equal in comparison the greatness of his 
administration. Grant was even greater as a general 
than he was as president, but his military greatness he 
possessed while acting in a high official position. So as 
a rule it may be fairly stated that all our presidents ex- 
cept Harrison have been greater as presidents than as in- 
dividuals. Harrison was an excellent lawyer, a modest 
yet patriotic and brave soldier, a good and wise president, 

331 



332 

aud a great man. Most men having occupied a liigh po- 
sition at the height of their ambition or expectations go 
off into a sort of "innocuous desuetude," seek some 
quiet, easy position and pass from the public mind. Ben- 
jamin Harrison went from the White House into his le- 
gal profession as fresh as though just born to it, and 
prosecuted his work with the vigor, zest, enthusiasm and 
efficiency of early life and mature manhood, winning suc- 
cess and distinction, absolutely independent of the high 
office he had filled. As a simple citizen he began writing 
and talking to the common mass and taught in the school 
of political philosophy, with the skill, learning and famili- 
arity of a master. Here is the only place in his past- 
presidental career in which his experience as president 
seems to have aided him, for he displayed such wonder- 
ful familiarity with the workings of every department in 
the government as to exhibit to a certain extent the 
source of his knowledge of them. But except a slight 
touch here and perhaps at one other incidental point he 
accomplished a life work that was truly great, corre- 
sponding with the beginning, the middle and advanced 
life work of a lawyer and statesman. And so Benjamin 
Harrison stands as distinguished in the minds of the 
people, if not more so, than does President Harrison. It 
may be said that the prestige he had by having been 
president made it easier for him to get into the business 
and favor of the country, but this can hardly be 
so, because the natural tendency of favor and confi- 



333 

dence has been to retire from men who apparently had 
rounded out their career, and it has been the inclination 
of the country to lay such men on the musty shelf of for- 
getfulness. Besides, Benjamin Harrison has done the 
later work in the courts, where the law knows no favorit- 
ism or prestige. And wherever he has been laboring as 
a citizen or statesman he has even had the disadvantage 
of rowing against the current of the times, and must 
be, taking everything into consideration, considered to 
have been a great and exceptional man. 



PRESIDENT McKINLEY. 

^T^HE deatH of President McKinley has spread a pall of 
^"^ grief and sorrow over the whole civilized world. 
The American people are shocked beyond expression at 
the horror of the crime that has taken from ns our 
chief executive. Had President McKinley died from sick- 
ness or from any natural cause, the nation's grief would 
have been as sincere and profound, but stricken down by 
the hand of a cowardly assassin, there is a feeling in the 
human heart deeper than grief — a sorrow akin to passion. 
A week ago the people were dazed with the suddenness 
of the news of his assassination, but the cheering reports 
from the bedside had given so much encouragement that 
up to Thursday it was generally believed that the Presi- 
dent would recover. The public was hardly prepared for 
the sudden change, and the announcement of his death 
came as a thunderbolt. No public man since Lincoln's 
time has so endeared himself to the people. His charm- 

334 



335 

ing personality, his loving devotion to his invalid wife, 
his high moral attainments, his loyalty to the people and 
his great executive ability in handling the affairs of state, 
have been attributes of McKinley rarely combined in one 
man. "There is a divinity that shapes our ends, rough 
hew them how we will," may be said of nations as well as 
men. When the war of the rebellion threatened to cleave 
the country in twain, God gave us Lincoln, and when the 
war with Spain again threatened us, thirty-seven years 
later, the people were glad that McKinley was at the 
helm. He had done his work faithfully and well — better 
than most other men could have done it. 

The sentiment of the country now, occasioned by the 
assassination of the president, is so deep and intense that 
any words of allusion to it are absolutely ineffectual and 
empty of any element that can affect the heart or under- 
standing. But although no words can affect the great 
ocean of sorrow some comparison may perhaps be profit- 
ably made of this with other like great calamities that 
have fallen upon the country. Present sorrows always 
seems the greatest of all, but this affliction to the country 
certainly seems the heaviest yet. Lincoln, as useful a 
man and as much beloved as is McKinley, was assassin- 
ated in a time of great excitement and just as the country 
had been deluged in blood and slaughter, when passions 
and animosities were at their height, and when the issue 
of life and death was between thousands of our country- 
men, and every heart was fired with revengeful enthusi- 



336 

asm. Men thought then that they had an excuse for 
killing one another. When Garfield was shot the deed 
was done either out of personal revenge for fancied in- 
jury, or induced by a crazy brain. In either case the 
crime could be imputed neither to personal animosity, a 
desire to injure the individual assaulted, nor to the de- 
mentia of the assailant. In this case it is the cool, delib- 
erate, designed and determined act of a man for the in- 
telligent though devilish purpose of destroying the di- 
vine institution of human government, by attacking and 
slaying probably the most conservative, humane and 
solicitous ruler on the earth. The act is entirely with- 
out cause except the hatred which anarchy bears towards 
everything that pertains to law, order, or the security and 
happiness of community. The personalty of the unfor- 
tunate president, his manner of associating with the peo- 
ple, his peculiar bon homie, endeared him individually 
to his people and every heart aches with sorrow. It makes 
no difference whether men believe or not in the policy he 
was carrying out. Those who agreed with him in re- 
spect to it were satisfied and felt safe with his calm, de- 
termined and consistent conduct of it ; and those who 
doubted the propriety of the course the country was tak- 
ing felt that if the present prevailing policy is to be pur- 
sued at all it was well that it was in the hands of such a 
man. And so everybody feels that his vacant place can 
scarcely be filled by any other man. Of course every- 
body knows, who reasons, that the killing of one man is 



337 

in no way destructive of the government lie represents ; 
but the president is so connected with the government, 
and has its purposes and theories so well in hand, that 
his absence from it will probably injuriously affect the 
government itself more than has the loss of any man ever 
affected our government or perhaps any other govern- 
ment. This is where reason feels the great calamity 
most deeply. But the great heart of America is affected 
most by the magnanimity displayed by the man in the 
trying moment of the attempted assassination. The Ro- 
mans never boasted of a grander specimen of heroism 
and fortitude than that displayed by him, the sublimity 
of whose character, as displayed on that terrible occasion, 
was grander than that of any Roman's ; nor has there 
been a more fervent prayer for the forgiveness of sin 
since the enactment of the sublimest martyrdom the 
world ever saw. When the country wakens from the 
dazed condition in which it now is, it will feel a keen 
sense of the danger, responsibility and terrible necessity 
that is upon it as demonstrated by this event. It will be- 
gin to ask itself if self-preservation is not the duty of all 
men in relation to human governments. It will also ask 
itself if it is better that the beloved president should be 
slain, and then the government which he represented de- 
stroyed, than that anarchy should be wiped out no mat- 
ter by what means. Whatever means or measures the 
wisdom of the country may devise for the preservation 
of the country, God grant that the strong will of the 



338 

people may become more dignified and uncompromising 
in its detestation of a spirit of lawlessness wliicH is too 
mucli countenanced and even applauded in these times. 
It is not a pleasant or encouraging picture — or two con- 
trasted ones — wlien in the most popular city in the land 
men cheer and drink toasts laudatory of the most anarch- 
istic sentiments, without any rebuke from the press even, 
and then a few days after, another representative of those 
same sentiments destroys the life of a grand man, simpl}^ 
because he represents one of the systems of human gov- 
ernment. When all sorts of apotheosis are bestowed on 
the assassins of government representatives, and murder- 
ers are glorified in broad daylight, and in public demon- 
strations without rebuke, if to meet such conditions and 
the assassins the words " Treason against the United 
States shall consist only in levying war against them or 
in adhering to their enemies, giving them aid and com- 
fort" are not sufficient, how about amending the definition 
of treason in the Constitution ? 

This question will be considered, the threads of busi- 
ness will be taken up, the ship of state will sail on, and 
the name of William McKinley will live forever as one 
of the good and great men of the world. 



WILLIAM M. EVARTS. 

'^^HE death of Wm. M. Evarts suggests thoughts of a 
^■^ character somewhat rare. There is occasionally 
a man the vigor of whose thought and originality are so 
impressed on an age or generation that the character be- 
comes substituted for the man himself, or rather the man 
becomes merged in the character. Living, Mr. Evarts 
was a part of Vermont's associations ; dead, he sleeps in 
its sacred soil, and so his memory is worshipped in the 
imaginative pantheon of Vermont's demi-gods. It is a 
rare and grand thing to win a secure posthumous fame, 
and then have time and leisure to reflect on it, and to live 
separate from, and independent of, one's reputation ; so 
much so that the public, gazing on the character and the 
impression made by the man, scarcely notice the decline 
or passing away of his body. Vermont has yet one or 
more living types of this rare kind of men who are living 
with posterity in the memory of their own lives, and who 
do not die when they lie down in the earth. 

339 



GLADSTONE. 

H peculiarly great man is dead. Some men become 
great or notorious (and greatness and notoriety 
are getting to be synonymous) by opportunity, some by 
accident, and nearly all are elevated and sustained at 
lieigbts wbere tbey attract public observation by some 
kind of staging, either political machinery, a combina- 
tion of circumstances, or a quick apprehension and ap- 
propriation of opportunities. Very few men have the 
inherent qualities requisite to rise on their own merits 
independent of their environment. Some, like Wendell 
Phillips, become so prominent by working up a single 
line of universal sentiment that they each become a type 
of that division of the mental work of the world and be- 
come great in that line. But like Phillips, the rounds of 
whose ladder were made by the finest arts of oratory, they 
have some propelling, lifting power, independent of the 
mental material they are contributing to the world's 
thought. 

340 



341 

Gladstone's character stands alone on an individual 
foundation, presenting a grand facade on every side. He 
was a great legislator, a great philosopher, a great the- 
ologian, a great statesman, a great Englishman, a great 
cosmopolitan, and what is more than all, a great, good man. 
He gained no eminence (and he never sought eclat) by 
riding into public gaze on any particular hobby, but he 
rose in individual grandeur on comprehensive and uni- 
versal considerations of the wants of mankind, like his 
love for the common people everywhere on the face of the 
earth, and his abiding faith in a government founded by 
and on them. He was not limited by the narrow lines of 
a specific theological creed, but had a massive and intel- 
lectual comprehension of the whole system of Christian 
design, which includes all its humanitarian as well as its 
sacred and mysterious elements and attributes. In a 
sense he was not an orator, that is, he had no arts of ora- 
tory, but his utterances warmed and stirred the souls of 
his audiences because his sentiments were the workings 
of nature's oratory, pouring from a living fountain a flood 
of native thoughts and sensations into the hearts of oth- 
ers. He produced no masterpiece of oratory, like Webster 
creating and permanently establishing extensive legal 
sentiments in a single argument in the Dartmouth Col- 
lege case, but the influence of his incessant work con- 
stantly increased and expanded till it spread over the 
whole earth and into the hearts of men everywhere. He 
was not great as a party leader because he never sacri- 



342 

ficed principle to expediency. He was possessed of a fine 
genius, but it was too general to be concentrated for the 
accomplishment of individual or class designs. He was 
one of the world's greatest political economists because he 
was more willing to bestow unobserved study and toil on 
those things which would contribute most to the common 
good than on considerations of individual advancement. 
To all who revere the intellectually good, the pure and 
the noble, he will ever remain the type of the true states- 
man, legislator and philanthropist, and of the most cul- 
tured school of Christian gentlemen. Of course some 
portions of his work will be criticised. It can hardly be 
expedled that his course would harmonize with the ideas 
and theories of every school or class of men. If it had 
borne such correspondence there would have been no such 
veneration for the man as there now is, and there would 
not have been any such "grand old man" to venerate. 
No man ever warmed the whole world with his personal 
influence like Gladstone. No man ever contributed so 
bountifully to every department of the world's store house 
as he did. No man ever placed his ear so near the ground 
to hear the deep toned murmurs of discontent and the re- 
citals of suffering and wrong even from the remotest 
corners of the world as he did. No man before him ever 
possessed a greater abundance of learning, sentiment and 
goodness, and none distributed it with more discretion, in- 
telligence and benevolence than he did. And therefore 
his death causes world wide personal bereavement. 



QUEEN VICTORIA. 

♦fTT is safe to say that no woman ever lived who lias 
■■ made so wide and deep an impression on the world 
as Victoria Alexandrina, late Queen of Great Britain and 
Ireland, and Empress of India, daughter of the Duke of 
Kent and granddaughter of George III. 

Her personality had become universal. Her reign 
stands distinguished from that of all other rulers in that 
she had dual characteristics which were so separate as not 
to touch each other. She was first a bright, sensible, pure 
and good, yet romantic, girl, capable of an affection so 
deep that when she lost its object she devoted herself to 
comparative seclusion, and when she came to assume the 
charadleristics of womanhood, she was a distinct person. 

As a ruler she possessed a great, strong, generous 
and severely just spirit, that ruling sometimes with sever- 
ity, begat everywhere love and respect ; and a courage 
that shrank from no responsibility. She was capable of 
standing a tower of strength, yet full of conciliation, 

343 



344 

among such men as Peel and Disraeli and Gladstone, and 
in every crisis that occurred in a constitutional govern- 
ment through more than sixty years her conduct was such 
as to regulate party spirit and command the respect of all. 
Her qualities were of the highest order and of won- 
derful development, and their influence was more exten- 
sive than the personality of any other woman, probably, 
who ever lived, loved, toiled, prayed and suffered among 
mortals. She did not, like one of her predecessors, create 
an Klizabethian age restricted to English sentiment and 
progress; but she permeated the whole world with the 
most queenly sentiments, animating a mighty nation 
moving along through a progressive period never equalled 
before. What a multitude of virtues she has vindicated ! 
Humanity and charity in government. Christian faith to 
strengthen the ties that bind a Briton to his constitution 
and his laws, and a noble pride in the glorious achieve- 
ments of his country. This she has done as a ruler. But 
aside from her character as a ruler she had charadleristics 
that distinguished her as a woman. As an individual she 
has vindicated the capacity of woman. What woman will 
stand her equal in history ? Other good women have 
ruled England, and other countries. Madame de Stael 
shone like a meteor in literature. But the Elizabethian 
age is narrow compared with that influenced by Queen 
Victoria ; one shining quality will not compensate for all 
the varied goodness of this one woman. There is one 
thing lamentable in her career, and that is the breaking 



345 

down of her great heart when Lord Roberts returned and 
reluctantly half told her of the horrors of the African war, 
and she said she could not permit the awful war to con- 
tinue another day. But she was answered diplomatically, 
and her career as a ruler was ended when the war began. 
No one can allude to any considerable portion of 
the events that fill the volume of the life of this good 
Queen. And indeed it were pleasanter to contemplate 
her virtues shining out, clear and unobstructed, amid po- 
litical events. One cannot refrain from contemplating 
how many conditions have culminated in her day. The 
powers of King and parliament have become fixed and 
certain so as to leave hardly a possibility for collision be- 
tween them. The great declaration of principles at 
Runny mede has been resolved into a systematic adjust- 
ment of the rights and liberties of the people. The free- 
dom of the subject has been expanding until personal 
liberty is as large as in a republic, and more secure. 
Britain's colonial system has become so humane that 
she bears little different relations to her colonies than 
one independent nation bears to another ; while in mor- 
als, manners, progress, science, wealth and power she 
stands among the first if not foremost in all the world. 
But the world is mourning, not thinking of those things, 
but only of the personal virtues, kindness, goodness, pur- 
ity and wisdom of a type of womanhood that heads the 
list of all who have been. The world does well to worship 
this almost perfect type as it would a goddess. 



MRS. STEDMAN D. MORSE. 

RS. Julia A. Blaisdell Morse, wife of S. D. Morse, 
passed away at lier home after an illness of six 
weeks, during whicli lier sufferings were intense. 

Mrs. Morse was born in Kennebunk, Me., in 1832. 
Ske was married to Mr. Morse at Saco, Me., April 9, 
1851, and they came to Island Pond in November, 1858, 
and have since resided here. To them four children were 
born, all living : Edwin, of Everett, Wash., Mrs. S. Lind- 
say and Mrs. M. B. Ladd of Island Pond, and Mrs. Frank 
Thurston of Portland. Mrs. Morse was a most estimable 
woman, wife and mother, and a true friend, especially to 
the suffering and the needy, and was held in the highest 
regard. 

Bereavements always fall heavily on acquaintances, 
and heavier on those connected with the departed by 
closer ties ; and each sorrowing time has something pe- 
culiar to itself. The associations of Mr. and Mrs. Morse 

346 



347 

began to knit into this community almost or quite in its 
infancy, and when they were young ; when affection for 
country, friends, home, husband, wife and children, is 
keen, zestful, and ripens into enduring sentiments, its in- 
terruption seems to break up the whole life of the afflicted. 
A man and woman who join their fortunes in marital re- 
lations grow through many years into a thousand culti- 
vated harmonies, besides those provided by nature ; and, 
when they move along accompanied by children and 
family friends, with the development of a community 
through lively as well as the more drowsy years of a long 
lifetime, they become so fitted into accustomed conditions 
that it cannot seem otherwise than terribly sad, if not 
cruel, to disturb those relations. But they are only crea- 
ted for life, and we all know that, from the beginning of 
our lives. But notwithstanding that fact, they are so 
seemingly formed to endure for ever, that when they fail 
it weakens all their conne<5lions and plunges a group 
into deep grief. When, like the one now gone, she has 
contributed to the peace, harmony and happiness of fami- 
lies and society, all feel alike a common sorrow. There 
are also times when a community feels the loss of one of 
its members more than at others, and when death makes 
it more lonely than it does at other times. This com- 
munity is walking down deep into the valley of grief. It 
has been made very lonesome by recent departures. 
Those who came together early in life here united hope- 
fully, zealously, and in great generosity and good fellow- 



348 

stip, in designs every bearing of which was seen and 
realized except their ending. The father and mother of 
this afflicted family were among that number. Let us be 
thankful to a kind nature which veils from us all the re- 
alities of the future and makes ourplans and dearest asso- 
ciations seem eternal. There is no one who knew her 
who was so kind and good a woman, and who has gone so 
patiently in so much suffering, who does not feel deep 
grief at thoughts of the living and the dead. A peculiar 
sadness rests on those who have come up with this sepa- 
rated couple from the beginning of a little community's 
hopes and prescient pictures of domestic and public life 
and conditions ; but beyond our comprehension is the 
shock to him who stands directly where the bolt strikes. 
Poor weak human sympathy is all the aid we can render 
him and his children who are born into this grief, which 
is ours also. But the few surviving comrades of those 
early days can recommend to each other courage ; that 
courage which gave them strength in the beginning; 
that courage, which, exhibited in the decline of life, will 
give like courage to the children ; that courage which 
will enable older men to look with manly fortitude and 
resignation on the end of their little life designs, even on 
their failures, and awaken them to a new life and a living 
in the joyous anticipations of the high resolves and bright 
hopes of the children, which are as deep, glowing, and as 
important as were ours when lighted by the morning sun 
of our lives. 



GRACE DAVIS. 

^Jj tender and witching fancy played among the strings 
^^* of her instrument ; delicate, and smooth, yet thril- 
ling and soul stirring notes fell on the ears of listeners ; 
and every heart string vibrated with that perfect and 
happy harmony with which nature responds to its own 
genius. 

A little sun burned girl — a hot day, cool, shady trees 
on the hillside rising from the winding country road, 
buzzing insects, singing birds, the hum of bees under the 
shrubbery mingling a peculiarly sweet odor with the 
scent of flowers — and a little harmonica, and all blending 
with the child girl's wild dreams of the realities of her 
conceptions of a musical elysium, then the fresh ecstasy 
of young life, the development, fullness and harmony of 
sounds that rose and fell on the ears of her friends in 
wonderful exhibitions of genius, and then the dying 
away of those notes, growing fainter and sweeter in her 

349 



350 

ears till they gently harmonized with silence itself ; and 
now finally all the hopes, dreams and passions of that 
young life have, like the tones of her music, died away 
and she has come to be only the white marble form and 
figure of a girl that was. The intense, passionate, long- 
ing, suffering little genius has found relief and rest at 
last. 

As the sublimest lives spring from lowly conditions 
so the richest inheritance of genius springs from the 
humblest sources. The world's greatest surprises, like 
the Maid of Orleans, were most of them so developed as to 
show clearly that they were neither created by their sur- 
roundings nor moved by the conditions in which they 
were, so much as by innate elements that the possessor 
seems to be unconscious of, but which often direct to 
most unexpected results. Musical talent created by na- 
ture is as high above that which comes from cultivation 
as nature is above the art of man. When art struggles 
through musical bars and moves mechanically though 
accurately through the variations of a musical perform- 
ance, auditors coldly criticise and approve, but when na- 
ture alone or aided by art bursts forth in full melodious 
tones, both mind and soul join in a mental chorus in har- 
mony with every conception and impulse of human be- 
ings. A natural genius that will endure education with- 
out losing its inherent power is almost a phenomenon. 
The little girl down under the hill did this. She was a 
child of nature. She bore the same relation to music 



351 

that Robert Burns did to poetry. He breathed the songs 
of nature through all the rules and arts of poetry with- 
out disturbing the simplicity or grandeur of sentiments. 
It was nature meeting art in loving embrace and produc- 
ing a harmony enhanced by the union, while nature lost 
not a blossom or breath of fragrance. The music of this 
little genius when a child she played the rude little mouth 
organ under the shadows of the maples, or concealed in 
the thicket by the roadside, surprised many a passer who 
turned to discover that the performer was only a plain 
simple child, just as one attracted by the sweet notes of a 
bird of such gentle melody as to distinguish them from 
all others, discovers that they are produced by a small 
plainly colored thrush, sweetest of all nature's songsters. 
So sang our little friend, at least it seemed so to some of 
us. To the world she was odd, as genius is apt to be. 
And when this little child of nature was taken from be- 
neath the bushes that skirted her cottage home, and cul- 
tivated in schools of music, the charm of her pure, rich 
native qualities was preserved, and played, free and un- 
trammeled, among notes arranged by art, as when in her 
girl home she breathed artless tones from the lap of na- 
ture. 

When through envy, selfishness or contempt we are 
tempted to despise the aspirations of childhood, especially 
when discovered in humble conditions and unexpected 
places, it is well to reflect on the experiences of nearly 
everybody. While this girl, being consumed by con- 



352 

sumption and an irresistible passion for music, attempted 
to construct a violin from a common shingle, she was a 
type of childhood everywhere, a type and a mystic sym- 
bol that thrills the veins of nearly all of us with the 
memory of discords produced by "cornstalk fiddles" and 
bugles made of pumpkin vines, and that carries us back 
to childish conceptions of grand ideas and achievements 
to mimic soldiery, and poetic conceptions without form or 
figure, but so pure, so romantic, so fresh and full of 
ardor and love and exultation that we would give months 
of now for moments of then. Oh, time, give back to us 
if you can for a single moment the wild mysterious 
ecstasy of the young days that were ! Out of such com- 
mon conditions this odd little genius arose. She was pe- 
culiar. Her endowment so completely enveloped her 
that her individuality was lost in it. If she had possessed 
the strength to have endured efi&cient training, there is no 
height to which she might not have consistently aspired, 
and as far as her education went, it developed the highest 
order of talent, to which rusticity and obscurity lent a pe- 
culiar charm. 

The performances of Ole Bull were in the minds of 
his auditors properly imputed to art, education, mechanical 
movements and arrangements, so much so that they were 
considered excellent by the head rather than by the heart. 

When we lose one highly endowed by nature, how- 
ever humble and obscure, it is a great loss. And when 
one starts up in life with brilliant exhibitions of high 



353 

qualities, and falls, not having strength to endure an ap- 
parent destiny, the mind is filled with peculiar regrets 
and sorrows. But although the world envies such beings, 
and esteems it the highest privilege to be born to their 
conditions, yet there is in the lives of most geniuses much 
to excite our sympathy as well as to merit our admira- 
tion. One glance at only the picture of Beethoven is 
enough to cause the beholder to start in surprise and pity 
at the deep lines of care and anxiety and nervous tor- 
tures written in his face. 

Sad and exultant by turns, melancholy and gay, de- 
spondent and turbulent, a perfect medley of conflicting 
sentiments and impulses hushed and concealed from the 
world, our young friend finds rest and peace only in a 
merciful death to which she has been conducted by a flat- 
tering and considerate disease, which all along her de- 
cline constantly whispered hope and encouragement, un- 
til (kindly keeping the knowledge of it from her) na- 
ture transfused and blended her musical life into its 
original elements, out of which such beings are born to 
cheer us as we go our way. 



DR. CEPHAS G. ADAMS. 

Y^R- Cephas G. Adams, wlio died at Portland, Me., 
^"^ April 12, 1 90 1, was for many years a resident of 
Island Pond. He was born in Derby in 1830, and after 
attending the common schools and academy, lie studied 
medicine with Dr. Hinman, late of Charleston, who was a 
man of very deep but latent knowledge and force. After 
his local studies, Dr. Adams attended medical lectures, 
and in one way and another acquired a good general and 
medical education. Being a man of quick perception, 
keen observation, and being exceedingly aggressive, he 
started in the practice of medicine in this town, after hav- 
ing practiced for a while in Charleston, and soon com- 
manded the business along the line of the Grand Trunk 
Railway, which was opened for traffic about the time he 
came to town. He was well fitted to a primitive com- 
munity, like what existed here at that time. He was 
somewhat proficient in music, was a ready conversation- 

354 



355 

alist, lively, sarcastic and intelligent. He had a taste 
for literature, kept up with the times, current events of 
the day, was familiar with the details of all local matters, 
took a lively interest in the domestic affairs of the town 
and community, and was soon in the confidence of the 
people, and in control of the business in his line. He was 
industrious, kept to the front in medical literature and in 
a knowledge of the new developments in theory and prac- 
tice. He was one of the best medical witnesses in the 
country and was universally conceded to be one of the 
best physicians in the country. He had energy, push, 
and confidence to execute. He was exceedingly jealous 
of his reputation and fierce in its defence. He had come 
to be a valuable physician in this community, the indi- 
vidual members of which were not as a rule wealthy, and 
the doctor's charges were always reasonable. 

In the midst of his success he was elected in 1880 a 
member of the Vermont Legislature. About this time he 
had formed some acquaintances in Portland, and some 
professional relations with patients there, among whom 
were two or three influential men and families, who easily 
persuaded him that his opportunities here were too limit- 
ed and that he could maintain himself in a larger field 
of operation ; and so he moved to Portland, where he 
has been in successful practice the past twenty years — 
successful not only in his profession but financially. 

About two years ago as he was crossing Portland 
bridge with his horse and buggy, a powerful two horse 



356 

team broke from a funeral procession and ran on to the 
doctor's carriage, demolisliing it with great violence, in- 
juring him severely, one of his ribs penetrating the lung 
in such a manner that it could not be restored to position, 
and rendering him an intense sufferer up to the time of 
his death. He visited Island Pond last summer, was 
fully conscious of his condition, coolly talked with his 
friends about it, calculated the time remaining to him, 
pleasantly received the greetings of his many old friends 
and patients, and returned to Portland with the expecta- 
tion of soon taking his final departure. 

The burial was at his old home, Derby ; and he is 
survived by a widow, two sons and a daughter. 



JOHN D. FRXNCH. 

QjJ LTHOUGH many of his friends were aware that 
^^* JoHn D. French of Brunswick was well advanced 
in years, and declining in health, they were surprised at 
his death, which occurred at the home of his son-in-law, 
Hon. James H, Beattie, the 28th day of November 1900. 
While Mr. French had of late years lived a re- 
tired life, he was formerly, especially about fifty years 
ago, one of the most active men in the valley of the Con- 
necticut. He was for nearly or quite a half century con- 
stantly mingling in town affairs and holding town po- 
sitions of trust and responsibility. He was a remarkably 
social man, lively, genial and accommodating. He would 
do anything in the range of possibility for a friend. He 
had scarcely enough miserly qualities to secure what be- 
longed to him ; and through those qualities which he 
possessed he gained many warm friends. He belonged 
to those old times and possessed the hospitable and frank 
manners peculiar to those times, and no survivor of them 
will hear of his death without deep impressions of sadness. 

357 



MOODY B. LOVELL. 

H gloom has fallen on the town. A day or two since 
it was hushed. Men and women walked its streets 
with measured steps, halted now and again, and spoke to 
each other in subdued tones, then turned and walked on 
as if almost dazed. At a social assembly they say no 
current of conversation remained long unbroken. At the 
hotel the guests were silently sad. Even strangers who 
had not learned the cause of such unusual mental atmos- 
phere, partook of the sentiment and were also silent. 
Implements of country games were left idly lying where 
they were last used. There was no use for them at such 
a time. The venerable landlord moved about with mel- 
ancholy air as if pushed about by the necessities of his 
guests, ever and anon turning to hide his emotion. Here 
and there were indications of some one being startled by 
sad tidings. With the sighing of bleak and wintry winds 
on the wires and around otherwise cheerful firesides, 

358 



359 

every movement and tone was of grief. Some of tHe 
more intimate friends walked quietly to the saddest part 
of the town, fearing to intrude, yet anxious to say or do 
something comforting. 

What was the occasion of this unusual condition ? 
A man had suddenly gone from the earth forever. That 
is not an unusual occurrence. No. But this was a pub- 
lic man and represented the people, and perhaps you will 
say that the death of such is also common. But this 
man was in unusually tender relations, even to the public. 
There are mental and spiritual relations of warm, good 
and true qualities, and a genial and cheerful radiation 
from generous and large-hearted men, that mysteriously 
permeate whole communities and produce a glow of uni- 
versal love and friendship for them, which is changed to 
correspondingly deep gloom by their loss. The highest 
homage is due to such. The world owes it to them. Na- 
ture developed in this one rare qualities, time and chance 
placed him in favorable conditions for their exercise, and 
he soon became to all who knew him a companion, friend, 
counsellor and exemplar, and gave to the world rich 
abundance of the finest charadleristics of a man. He 
associated the richest elements of character with the 
living, but they can give him nothing in return. For 
what to him now is earthly homage ! The only way the 
great account can be settled is by the hope of eternal 
compensations. Oh the mystery of life ! How it over- 
whelms us when we see a man adored by his family, 



360 

united to his friends by pride and the most confidential 
comradery , and in the greatest confidence and high hopes 
of his country, taken away I The man was modest and 
delicate, a Chesterfield in manners, yet firm, judicious, 
decided and effective in design and action ; and as chari- 
table and condescending in his private relations as in his 
public. In him were united a multitude of public and 
private virtues. There is a type of manhood to which 
nature has applied the finest mold. Their manners are 
made, not cultivated; innate, not assumed; real and not 
artificial. Even in silence their presence is a social in- 
spiration. The mysteriously subtle and silent influence 
of their presence is always pleasing, and their words are 
but the language of their natures. The unusual thing 
about this man and this occasion, is that, while affection- 
ate intercourse is usually circumscribed and limited to 
family and a circle of individual friends, his seemed to be 
universal and universally reciprocated. He was genial in 
conversation, but free from compromise or flattery, with 
no rough or vulgar exhibitions, but with a clean and 
quiet humor that gave point and zest to an anecdote or 
reminiscence. Scarcely twice six evenings gone, he was 
in a reminiscent mood and related some pleasant anec- 
dotes in his nice and quiet style, with well feigned cheer- 
fulness in spite of physical suffering. Then he went 
away and did not come back, but has gone into the cher- 
ished memories of our lives which will never leave us 
while we live. 



36i 

Belonging to a family the members of which have 
by remarkable enterprise, push, and probity, won success 
in business and high positions in public, he was as chari- 
table and considerate of the humblest as though he had 
not been favored by good fortune. His advice was much 
sought after, and he quietly dire<$led a large influence in 
public and in business matters without ever assuming to 
possess distinguished qualities. I once met another al- 
most like him, and went a little way with him as in this 
case. Then, as now, too soon we parted; I to continue 
along the rough and lonely paths of life, and they, for- 
tunately, to lie down in the tender memories each of his 
own people. 

It is sad to part with attractive men just in their in- 
teresting time of life, and before the charm of new ac- 
quaintance has been disturbed by the division of a single 
thought; but it sweetens and hallows our memory of 
them, and perhaps the good qualities we admire in them 
are brought out by suffering, and the decline and going 
out of their lives. He was a man in common with others, 
but great in charity, great in judgment and candor, great 
in patience, great in the possession and appreciation of 
all the social qualities of life ; and happy in all its ameni- 
ties, uniting his friends to him by strongest ties, running 
in strong but finest and tenderest cords to the delicate 
center of that inner circle into which no tongue or pen 
should rudely come. 

They have laid him to rest with exercises so appro- 



362 

priate and so in accord witli the harmony of his life that 
grief seems to be softened and subdued by gratitude for 
his coming. And there we leave him, invoking the ten- 
der mercies of a kind Providence for those suffering inex- 
pressible grief for the loss of the warmest, kindest and 
truest friend they ever had. 

Coaticook, Que., February i, 1902. 



SPRAGUE T. HALE. 

♦fTN the death of this man, at Lunenburg, February 21st, 
" 1902, the County of Essex has lost one of its most 
substantial and characteristic citizens. He was not 
prominently engaged in its public affairs as much as 
some other men of his age. But this was not from any 
want of information, or lack of interest or zeal in public 
matters. He was a retiring man, with strength of charac- 
ter, always exercising a strong and healthy influence 
which was widely and quietly felt. He was a great reader; 
a man who possessed and cultivated a literary taste far 
above the average of men of his time and pursuits in life. 
He never aspired to position or office, but was always at 
his post of duty with the loyalty of a citizen and the de- 
votion of a Christian. The lines of his life were well 
laid, strong, consistent and enduring. He was united 
to his family for life, to his party to the full extent of his 
convictions, and to his church by a boundless faith. The 

363 



364 

tenor of all His ways was even, thoughtful, deliberate; 
but always infused with an earnestness and lively sincer- 
ity which made the influence of his life much greater and 
more extensive than would be apparent to a casual ob- 
server. He belonged to that class of Essex county men 
who, beginning early in its enterprises, seemed to identify 
themselves with it and to stand out prominently in its 
work and history; and while others were more promi- 
nently engaged in political and other pursuits, Mr. Hale 
was quietly but none the less effectively engaged in build- 
ing up healthy political, moral and religious sentiments. 
His was a substantial life and work. He was a good and 
true man, industrious, modest, useful, kind and charita- 
ble to all. He gave to the world all he had, took noth- 
ing from it, and never impeded its progress. He gave 
to the Union his eldest son, who died at Andersonville, 
in 1864, and to the country another worthy son who has 
done, and will do, nothing inconsistent with his memory. 

Mr. Hale was born in Waterford, September 14, 
181 5 ; he married Nancy Moulton April 4, 1843, ^^^ they 
celebrated their golden wedding nine years ago. His 
wife died May 27, 1901. He is survived by a son, Hon. 
F. D. Hale, and a daughter, who is the wife of Judge 
Savage of Maine, and several grandchildren. 

He was a fortunate old man. He belonged to a 
numerous family charadlerized by the strictest integrity 
and the highest respectability ; pursued the most respect- 
able avocation in the country, that of a farmer, in which 



365 

he was efficient and enterprising and reasonably success- 
ful. His personal relations were most friendly and har- 
monious, and those of his family characterized by quiet 
but unusual affection and devotion. After a long and use- 
ful life, running in harmony with all its relations to the 
world in conscious rectitude, he was tenderly borne from 
Maine to his home in Vermont where he went quietly to 
sleep, 

"Like one who wrapa the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams." 



RUSSELL S. TAFT. 

MHILE Vermont was recently mourning tlie loss 
of prominent men representing Her business 
enterprises, and Her leading tHougHts, actions and memo- 
ries, eacH of wHom Had Hastily followed His file leader into 
tHe unknown, sHe was startled by tHe loss of Hon. Rus- 
sell S. Taft. He was a man tHat for many years Had 
been growing, widening and deepening in tHe judicial 
system of tHe state, wHicH Has suddenly lost a part of its 
very self. Beside tHis an unusual number experience a 
personal calamity. WHen a man represents one of our 
most important institutions, and grows into tHe exercise 
of tHose influences on wHicH tHe individual Happiness 
and tHe prosperity of all depend. His loss is second only 
to tHe loss of a portion of tHose sacred principles wHicH a 
free people Hold most dear ; and wHen a man so identifies 
Himself witH, and devotes Himself to, one feature or de- 
partment of tHe social compact as to become specially 

366 



367 

proficient in it, lie seems to become a part of it. So the 
state lias lost him and a portion of its judicial system. 

In society principles become men and men principles. 
They are merged and become identical. Principles have 
no vitality until into them is breathed the spirit of man. 
The extent to which our revered judge and beloved co- 
citizen breathed his spirit into the basic principles of the 
state measures the loss to our commonwealth of one of 
her most valued and cherished sons. 

Looking upon the school of men a little older than 
Judge Taft, and who were on the stage of action during the 
most brilliant period of the Chittenden County Bar, we 
see men of such superior qualities that to rise steadily to 
prominence among them from the very beginning of an 
early carer, as Judge Taft did, would seem a thing incredi- 
ble. There was Levi Underwood, a man with an abund- 
ance of legal knowledge, and a thrilling enthusiasm that 
bore the same relation to political and forensic enterprises 
that the drum beat does to the impulses of a crowd of 
men. And Daniel Roberts was there then, with un- 
bounded mental resources, and as much acquisitiveness 
in the direction of legal knowledge as Grant ever pos- 
sessed for the pursuit of military methods, and with like 
persistency and designs. And Edmunds was there, the 
Socrates of the bar, the great practical philosopher in 
law and statesmanship, following up many a retreating 
adversary with a series of propositions each one more de- 
structive than its file leader, and backed by peculiar 



368 

demonstration and invective. And the precocious and 
brilliant Frencli was tHere, with so fine and superior 
qualities tliat they could not endure long. And B. R. 
Hard was there in his prime, with flashing wit, a rich as- 
sortment of illustration, an excellent stock of legal learn- 
ing, and an unusual kind of reasoning that was neither 
perfectly systematic nor disordered and made effective by 
unexpected developments and backed by immense native 
qualities. And Phelps was there, representing the high- 
est ideal of legal chivalry, a man whom creation fashioned 
when in her most fastidious mood, and with the greatest 
contempt for anything gross ; he was full of the most in- 
nocent artfulness; he ornamented legal principles with- 
out enervating them ; he refined methods by which theo- 
ries of the law should be practically applied without les- 
sening their force or efficiency ; he was one of the most 
(if not the most) polished and finely grained and highly 
tempered man both physically and mentally the state 
ever produced. It was up among such men as these 
(who were quickened by contact with the Washington 
County Bar at its brightest period) that Judge Taft 
steadily rose. 

In the House of Representatives, a slim, youthful 
member, his body in limited contrast with a broad men- 
tality, and wide, charitable and harmonious association 
with men and measures, he quickly identified himself 
with a large circle of friends and their various plans and 
purposes, and soon became fixed not only in the confi- 



369 

dence but in the affections of tlie people of the state. Then 
when he went to more important work, he was older, more 
serious and in nice correspondence with it. He was well 
equipped, not only in respect to his legal attainments 
and ability in legislation, but by a wide and favorable ac- 
quaintance throughout the state. He was not long ex- 
posed to common observation before his fitness for the 
bench became evident and he was speedily assigned his 
position in life by common consent, into which he went 
most fittingly, or rather nature placed him there in ac- 
cordance with one of her own grand designs. There he 
at once began to take root and grow. He made no fran- 
tic attempt to jump or climb hastily up, but filled his po- 
sition with contented yet zestful work, and steadily rose 
upon it to the end of his life. His elevation to the po- 
sition of Chief Justice was mere form. It seemed more so 
than in the case of any other man who ever before occu- 
pied that position, because he was so much of the materi- 
alistic and matter of fact type that he would be independ- 
ent of form or position. What he was, he would be entirely 
in and of himself. His personal qualities may not be 
manifest to a stranger reading Judge Taft's legal opin- 
ions, but they can easily be traced in his work by those 
acquainted with him. He keenly discerned the motives 
and designs of others, and the subtle influences which 
moved them, and he dealt with them (according to his 
approval or disapproval) by diredling attention to gener- 
alities and results, and to just what would hurry the 



370 

fastest to the accomplishment of the purpose, and pati- 
ently gleaning up the details of a case, he would take the 
results and hardly embody even their implications in his 
statement of the law of the case. He dealt very little in 
details or inducements to legal conclusions, and seldom 
in anything by way of vindication of the opinion. In 
his statements of the law he seemed to assume that every- 
body reading them would be educated up to the specific 
point to which he was when he made them. Some men 
have a clear idea of a principle of law, but when they 
state it the statement is apt to be not correct law. Judge 
Taft not only knew the law, but his statements were ac- 
curate law, and their lucidity often redeemed them from 
a want of statement of even the inducement to his le- 
gal conclusions. A student not much advanced in the 
science of law might take up one of Judge Taft's opinions, 
read it, and not perceiving the sources from which his 
conclusions came, put it away in indifference, and then 
take up a less meritorious opinion, in which a history of 
all its sources is given, and all the interesting processes 
through which results were obtained are detailed and 
worked out, and read that with delight. It is true that 
Judge Taft was not so much an instrudlor of the people 
in the nature, origin, growth, processes and purposes of 
the law as some others, but he was handy and strong in 
turning a case all up to the light, and getting at the law 
and applying it with the perfect impartiality of nature, 
whose favorite child he was. He was inclined to be obedi- 



371 

ent to the decisions of Vermont Courts because he 
thought they knew better the nature of our institutions 
and our people and their wants than outsiders did. And 
his analagous reasoning of the law was also largely- 
founded on the nature and situation of its subjects. But 
how empty and futile seems the attempt of the man who 
undertakes to analyze the mental qualities of another, he 
comes so far short of stating his own conceptions of their 
excellence ! We all know that Judge Taft was a very su- 
perior judge, possessing very strong native qualities, and 
an unostentatious firmness in decision, and executive 
though quiet force, that is truly admirable. He was 
looked upon most in his character as a judge. Whatever 
his peculiar notions may have been outside of that, they 
were scarcely noticed, the people were so well contented 
with him as a judge. Yet as deeply as he was buried in 
his work he did not lose his other characteristics. He 
had as tender and affectionate a side as almost any other 
man, and his death is a personal loss to a very wide circle 
of friends. His broad charity and humanity went on un- 
diminished. He never abandoned his favorite authors, 
who seemed to be to him living associates. His love of 
his state and his friends kept pace with the development 
of his other faculties. He took a lively interest in every 
community in the state. He had visited nearly every 
town in it, and probably had true personal friends in 
each one of them. His going anywhere to hold court 
was looked forward to with warm social anticipations, as 



372 

well as great respect. He had acquaintances and friends 
everywhere in the state, and knew, even to the day and 
date of their birth, the age of nearly every public man in 
the state. 

His long, steady and uninterrupted growth in the 
knowledge of law, his happy association with the mem- 
bers of the legal profession and their numerous clientages, 
and the pleasant accumulating memories of a long life 
work, had made him so integrally a part of the social, 
political and legal substance of Vermont, that the news of 
his death swept like a chilling wind through all its 
borders. Of those starting with him few are left. He 
recently named them and gave their ages. They are 
standing today on the brink, mourning the taking off of 
one than whom the loss of none of them could have been 
greater. So many are gone that the survivors have a 
feeling akin to that of the last of retiring banqueters. So 
many are gone that long associations with them incline 
the remainder to seek them, and make those left behind 
less reluctant to follow those gone before, even into 
the chambers of death. Let us seek consolation in con- 
gratulations on our good fortune in having our paths 
(though many of them more obscure and less cultivated) 
extend along so near to the way so industriously and 
faithfully worked, and so studiously embellished by him. 



HIRAM A. HUSE. 

'^^HH deatli of Hiram A. Huse of Montpelier suggests 
^*^ the thought that no man of virile qualities dies 
without leaving the memory of charadleristics which may 
profitably be recalled to mind for instruction and imita- 
tion. Never perhaps since the genial light of the life 
of the late Dugald Stewart went out have so many indi- 
vidual hearts in Vermont been lost for the time in the 
shadows of death, as when the cloud rose over the way- 
side inn where our brother sought temporary and found 
eternal rest. So agreeable and kindly, and so universal 
was the radiation of his personality, and so much was he 
in touch with almost everybody in all parts of the state, 
that men feel the loss more in common than when only 
a locality in the state is involved. No struggling brother, 
with scanty library and limited knowledge of where best 
to seek for the information he required, ever sought our 
friend's aid in vain. He was sure to be handed a book 
or referred to sources of information. 

373 



374 

Mr. Huse was by nature adapted to the position of 
State Librarian. That position kept him in toucli with 
the books and the most refreshing thoughts of the time, 
and with men all over New England, for whom he acted 
as interpreter and guide. He extended his kindly offices 
alike to all. He gave to all who asked much time which 
he might have coined. He wore his life away, in a large 
measure, by following the inducements of his noble and 
generous nature. The social essence of his thoughts and 
impulses permeated his companionships and warmed and 
encouraged the wide circle of his comradery. 

But we must not let even tender sorrow for the dead 
hide the real impress of their lives, nor forget the lessons 
they have been teaching. The life of our friend has 
taught us what a man in our country, under our institu- 
tions and advantages, can grow to be by simply surren- 
dering himself to the influence of his surroundings. It 
is true that he was an uncommon commoner. His large- 
ness came by continual accretion, by constant observation 
and unceasing appropriation. By mental process he al- 
ways seemed to be transforming external objects into 
mentality. He did not suddenly discover some bright 
features in the world of thought and then run and boast- 
ingly display them as a personal attribute of himself. 
But he sat coolly, thoughtfully and interestedly amid the 
boundless wealth of knowledge which surrounds us all, 
and out of his own qualities and appropriations from the 
general stock of knowledge, grew to be one of the most 



375 

impressive individualities in the state. 

No title or degree sat well on him, except that of — 
a man. There are some who seem to be a fit and corre- 
sponding annex to a title. This is because the title is so 
much compared with the man. But our friend, though 
still young and vigorous, had risen above the atmosphere 
of tawdry and bedizened tokens of worth or eminence. 
Such men cannot grow in knowledge and strength and 
virtue unnoticed, and that appreciation comes to them 
which toiling, patient and modest merit always wins. 

Life has three stages ; creation, development, and de- 
cay. The first and third touch and belong to the eterni- 
ties, but the second is either the pride and glory or the 
shame of man. Our friend died in the glories of a com- 
mon work, a largeness in good, clean, substantial things. 
He was not trammeled by technicalities, though accurate 
and systematic. His field of legal and miscellaneous ob- 
servation was wide. He knew well the history of legisla- 
tion, not only in our state but in England, from the be- 
ginning of legislation, on each subject down through its 
modifications and varieties to the establishment of what 
are known as common law principles. His knowledge 
was that of a plain, strong, common sense and practical 
man, who gave promise of becoming the most useful man 
in the state. Meeting him on the street and introducing 
a subject he began to discuss it, and we walked the length 
of State street more than once before he concluded, and I 
left him with the wish that what he said was in print. It 



376 

showed so much familiarity with the subject that I was 
astonished. I soon afterwards heard him deliver an ad- 
dress on a kindred subject, and expe<5led to hear a brilliant 
effort, but it manifested no more erudition or arrangement 
than his street talk, although he read from manuscript ; 
and so I concluded that he was not rich in thought today 
and poor tomorrow, but that he had a fruitful source of 
knowledge for every day and for everybody. 

If the coming and going of learned and brilliant men 
was not in harmony with nature and creation, it would 
produce melancholy reflections to recall the scenes in 
Washington county courts enacted fifty years and more 
ago by brilliant actors, up to whom the men and boys of 
the valleys looked with wonder and admiration, and re- 
flect that they are all gone — Dillingham who sounded all 
the depths and shoals of pathos and soul-stirring elo- 
quence, the brilliant and scintillating Colby, the subtle 
and ingenious Redfield, the artful Vail, the strong, 
learned and persistent Peck, and all those whose voices 
sounded in those courts in scenes so impressive that we 
who saw them then can see the actors now as they were 
when living — are all returned to dust. Not one actor in 
those scenes of fifty years ago is living now. And the 
strong and willing men of this generation, less original, 
less resourceful, less inventive, but more learned in the 
law and more systematic in the thought and work, than 
those preceding them, are going one by one. 

May the memory and stirring sentiments of those 



377 

men who have laid down a wealth of enterprise and learn- 
ing and gone on, inspire in the minds of the living that 
studious and consistent courage which the times demand ; 
and may the strong support the weak where this blow 
falls heaviest in this heavy time of sadness — sad hearts, 
sad home, sad brethren, sad friends, and sad common- 
wealth. 



WILLIAM W. GROUT. 

gj* AD tidings at last while the clock is striking eight in 
*^ the morning. How subdued and solemn the hour 
seems to strike ! It always strikes so when we are lone- 
some, and when our thoughts are turned to quiet sadness. 
While the clock is striking now we pause and for a mo- 
ment contemplate the magnitude and fullness of time, 
whose horologue has struck off almost unnoticed more 
than 350,000 hours since the enthusiastic young Grout, 
and the distinguished Bartlett of those days, came dash- 
ing into our village on an autumnal day between mudd}^ 
roads and bright skies like those upon us now. The lat- 
ter was exhibiting specimens of horse racing, which Gen. 
Grout used often to mingle in anecdotal form with those 
tales of wayside inns which the lawyers of that period 
were supposed to have on hand for any idle hour to illus- 
trate each other's traits and fill the pauses in their en- 
thusiastic lives. Those were zestful days, when every- 

378 



379 

body spoke animating words and wore an animating pres- 
ence. The pursuit of both enjoyment and knowledge and 
especially of professional skill, was hearty, intense, con- 
stant and enthusiastic. Forty years have made individu- 
alities less prominent. To the great credit of today, it 
may be said that more attention than formerly is given 
to the building of the whole, to the improvement of laws, 
customs, institutions, and whatever belongs to the stock 
of general good. At the same time he makes little pro- 
ficiency in his work who loses sight of his own advance- 
ment and does not feel its inspiration. The judge, the 
lawyer, legislator or politician, who does not feel a thrill 
of pride in the beauty, symmetry, harmony and efficiency 
of his own work, is wanting in the essentials of his equip- 
ment. No longer ago than the time of which I am speak- 
ing so much interest would often centre in successful 
individuals as to attract public attention from their work 
to themselves. He was regarded with the greatest com- 
mendation who built himself up with the greatest indus- 
try, and justly too, to a certain extent, for no man can 
elevate himself in the scale without lifting others up. 

Such ideas of the individual duties and destinies of 
young men prevailed to a large extent when the stirring 
figure of young Grout appeared. His nature was adapted 
to the times. He was open, frank and reliable. He was 
intensely ambitious. He was filled with ardent desires 
for success. He graduated as a legal student, went to 
the bar well equipped, and soon came to be recognized as 



38o 

an a<5live, aggressive man. His work attracted attention. 
As a lawyer and legislator lie was somewhat impatient, 
and studied intensely the most available things for pres- 
ent use. He did not study theories, nor balance nor ad- 
just counterparts and opposites in law and legislation, so 
much as he secured the field to gather all the informa- 
tion he could acquire, and learn the nature and uses of 
legal principles, so that he could have means of offensive 
or defensive contention, and he made such proficiency in 
their uses, backed by a perfect courage and an undaunted 
will, that he soon became quite formidable as a lawyer. 

He had been laying the foundation of his professional 
career for four or five years when the war broke out, and 
like many other young men of the times his path became 
confused, but not for long. A temperament like his could 
not long resist the inducements of the stirring drum and 
so he went iuto the army, plainly induced by patriotism, 
because in order to do it he had to lay down the cherished 
ambition of his life, and his intimate friends know how 
deeply he regretted the interruption of his life work to de- 
fend his country. By a common chance in war he was 
not fortunate. His experience was unlike that of his 
brother, the Major, who went into the thickest of the 
fight and had the satisfaction among other things of 
meeting Moseby with desperate courage aud coming off 
alive. The General's regiment, composed of the very 
best material, drilled and disciplined, equal to any 
emergency, was wanting in opportunities. It was a 



38i 

source of great disappointment to the General and his 
men that they had not an opportunity to engage more 
actively in the war. 

Resuming the practice of law, the General found the 
lines of his life work broken. His was a singular experi- 
ence; for while yet quite a young man he had been 
forced by circumstances to take up two lines of life work, 
and he was interrupted and both of these broken up. 
Harmonious and happy domestic relations had been 
formed, and were swept away by the death of an affection- 
ate wife and children. In these seemingly overwhelming 
calamities he found himself with nothing accomplished 
by way of permanent designs for life, but with a reputa- 
tion, a character, and a possession of public esteem which 
were enviable, and with the remarkable qualities of cour- 
age, persistency and will that were never excelled by 
those of any other man in Vermont. And so he was on 
his feet again as ready and as fresh as in the beginning ; 
and here is where he began again to build. He once 
more met defeat, but out of it he came triumphant, and 
marked the deep line of his life through fourteen years of 
uninterrupted success, which was more completely a mat- 
ter of personal achievement than has been the case with 
any other man in this generation. His lines of thought 
undoubtedly had been hardened by defeat and constant 
antagonistic encounters ; but through all the outward 
manifestations of his life he had shown a genial warmth. 

He was humane, devoted to his followers, self-sac- 



382 

rificing, and has left a long, substantial, eventful, and 
most beneficial line of work. It will stand a defiance to 
the world to show that his constituents were ever repre- 
sented by a man of more perfedl courage ; a man who 
ever defended the honor and glory of Vermont more vali- 
antly than he did on many occasions, especially in his en- 
counter with McCrarey of Kentuck}'- ; a man more cool, 
collected, and better up in the fine arts of debate than he 
exhibited on many occasions, especially in debates on 
the local conditions arising out of the government of 
the District of Columbia ; a man who was in fuller sympa- 
thy with his constituency in their political faiths; a 
man who made more practical speeches in Congress, or 
speeches that attracted more flattering attention by their 
literary and historic merit. And especially does his 
career defy the production of a man, jealous of his own 
position of course, yet who would do more to make the 
benefits of the enterprise more lasting or more beneficial 
to each of his followers. 

No man ever treated the complaints of injured sub- 
jects of the government better than he did. Those of 
the rich and the poor, the influential and the unknown, 
were treated with the same interest and devotion. He 
was imbued with a deep sense of the obligation of the 
government to its defenders, and the rights of the hum- 
blest of them were sacred to him. 

His political designs and works were peculiar in 
some respects. They exhibited a most commendable 



383 

genius. He grew to be one of the most difficult men in 
the country to get off his feet in an encounter. He had 
a flashing blade that struck here and there when neces- 
sary to make way for his plans, but his desire to heal 
the wounds it made outran even the haste in which they 
were inflicted. His political work was ingenious, im- 
pact and in every way marked with solidness. His or- 
ganization either in design or management seemed to be 
controlled by strongest inducements to unity. His fol- 
lowing was composed mostly of young men of great re- 
spedlability. His means were above board. His sup- 
porters seemed to be bound together by common senti- 
ments, were kept in accord, and he knit each one of them 
into his designs and purposes in a way to make each feel 
a personal as well as a patriotic interest in them. 

But to tell what a man does, only remotely tells what 
he is. If he perils his life for his country, does sacrificial 
acts in its behalf, secures an ancestral home in it, (not as 
a clannish proceeding, but as devotion to kinship, and as 
historic), it tells of patriotism, love of country, home, 
friends, and humanity generally. To see the inner 
man, one wants opportunity for absolute freedom of inter- 
course ; to know of our late friend's literary taste and ac- 
quirements, required listening to him as he read from his 
favorite poet. Burns, or Bryant, who lately was fast rival- 
ing Burns in his affedlions, or listening into the small 
hours of the night to his reading of some new philosophy 
of life with such busy mind that one could not tell which 



384 

had talked the most, the book or the reader. His mind 
was never idle, and the base and peaks of Vermont's 
military, legislative, and literary sentiments, show marks 
of his industrious visitation. 

Fortunate man I He lived in glowing times that 
met the ardor of his nature. His work was speeded to the 
highest point, and when finished, he fell asleep in his 
grand old ancestral home in the happiest land on earth. 

But for the living it is sad. It is a sad time for Ver- 
mont. It is a peculiarly sad time for her old school of men, 
each of whom has sustained heavy local and state respon- 
sibilities, — for their ranks are sadly broken. Six of their 
number have been suddenly and forever summoned away, 

"And like the waters rushing 
Among the wooden piers, 
A flood of thoughts comes o'er us 
That fills our eyes with tears." 

Where is Read, whose voice gave loud warnings of vi- 
cious legislation ; Taft, the wise, humane and considerate 
judge ; Estey, so largely identified with Vermont's indus- 
trial enterprises and progress; Hooker, whose deeds of 
daring were so numerous and varied as to furnish an 
illustration of every valorous feature in man ; Huse, the 
friend and counsellor, furnishing a constant feast of law 
and every day philosophy to those around him ; and 
Grout, the earnest man of law, letters and arms ? They 
are all within the enclosure, beyond the poet's pidured 
massive gate, outside which those who remain are calmly 
waiting till its hinges turn for them. 




3 

'>eLj are e^i 
^"^^e enclc- 
Sure beyond 

outside which those who remain are 
c^^fmfy w?vihnq till Its hinges turn 
for then-^ . 

cr ■ 







DEATH taken all in all is not a misfortune. 

WHY should we look with abhorrence on that which 
is an attribute of God himself, Who takes nothing from 
His universe, or His eternal plan I 

GUARD the memory of these our friends, and in a 
brighter clime bid them good morning, for to me resur- 
rection from death is no more a mystery than waking 
from sleep, save that we are more familiar with the latter. 

ASK the god of reason if that can be which man has 
never seen, and he will tell you that all the years he has 
presided over the destinies of mankind it has been his 
peculiar province to make that seem to be which is, and 
yet is unseen. 

DO not cut off the hope of an eternal sunrise on 
these graves. 

THEN let us look on life and death so that our day 
here will be pleasant, and so that when it is done 

"The night will be filled with music." 

G. N. D. 



INDEX. 

An Allegory i 

George P. Foster 3 

Elias Lyman 6 

Porter Hinman 10 

Russell Lyman 14 

Eunicia L. Hudson 17 

Horace Stewart 20 

Alec Cabana and Jolin Fowler 22 

Jonas Corruth 24 

Patrick Foley 26 

William Burns 28 

Harriette Gonya 30 

Lillian Marian Buck 32 

Hugo Jordan ' 34 

Judge Poland 36 

Mrs. John B. Grant 38 

David H. Beattie 40 

Warren Noyes 45 

Rev. Lemuel H. Tabor 50 

Levi Silsby 54 

William S. Ladd 56 



Lewis F. Bigelow 5- 

Jane A. Mansur ^ 

J. Gregory Smith g^ 

Jean Baptiste Gonya 
Charles B. Benton 
Mrs. Porter Hinman 



71 
73 

n 

Hugh Donahue g^. 

Martha M. Buck g^ 

George L. Ramsay g- 

William Heywood gg 

George C. Steele 
Charles W. King 

Josiah Converse Robinson 

Jason Currier 

Eber C. Robinson 

Arba Joy 

Marie Prior Vallee 

George Fitzgerald ^ g 

Thomas A. Brown 

132 

George E. Storrs ^ . 

Reflexions on the Death of a Young Friend 

and Protegee 
Reuben C. Benton 
Coleman J. Flaherty 
William H. Hunt 
Little David H. Beattie 
Cornelius W. Hobbs 
David S. Storrs 



97 

99 
104 

no 

115 
122 
126 



140 
144 
149 

153 
161 



Harriet Coe Rosebrook 


170 


Abiah Blake 


173 


Jolin Willard Hartshorn 


177 


Elijah W. Davis 


182 


Levi K. Fuller 


185 


Carl G. Gate 


190 


Joseph A. Mansur 


193 


Wallace W. Cheney 


199 


Helena Davis 


203 


Asa Wentworth Tenney 


207 


Joseph Andrew 


212 


Frances K. Willard 


215 


John Reilly 


218 


Catherine Conway Elie 


224 


T. Hull Page 


228 


"Light as a Glimpse They Ran Away" 


230 


Walter G. Vallee 


232 


Dr. John H. Linehan 


235 


Justin S. Morrill 


238 


Refledlions on the Death of a Child 


244 


Charles Green 


246 


Little Shadows in Life 


250 


Elmer H. Chevalier 


252 


Mrs. Stephen Maroney 


254 


John Tucker Thurston 


257 


Laura Reed Davis 


264 


William M. Currier 


267 


Moody 


274 



Bishop DeGoesbriaud 

Austin H. Hall 

Wilmot G. Nelson 

Luther Ladd 

Nickerson Warner 

Alvin Bartlett 

Joshua Henshaw 

James Oliver B. T. Hall 306 

Mary Ann Mansur 

Sarah Smith Currier 

Evelyn Fitzgerald Causebrook 

Samantha E. Hall 

Charles M. Wilds 

Aldace F. Walker 

Benjamin Harrison 

President McKinley 

William M. Evarts 

Gladstone 

Queen Victoria 

Mrs. Stedman D. Morse 

Grace Davis 

Dr. Cephas G. Adams 

John D. French 

Moody B. Lovell ^ 

Sprague T. Hale ^^^ 

Russell S. Taft 

Hiram A. Huse 

William W. Grout 



277 
278 
283 
288 

293 
298 

304 



315 
319 
322 

325 
328 

33^ 
334 
339 
340 

343 
346 

349 
354 
357 
358 



366 

373 
378 



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